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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26028091">Home is a Heartbeat</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/FervidAsAFlame/pseuds/FervidAsAFlame'>FervidAsAFlame</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/highlynerdy/pseuds/highlynerdy'>highlynerdy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Merlin (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst with a Happy Ending, Arthur Pendragon Returns (Merlin), M/M, Merlin Travels Through Time the Long Way, Merlin Waiting for Arthur Pendragon's Return (Merlin), Merlin-centric (Merlin), Period-Typical Homophobia, Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, mention of self-harm, mention of suicide</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 07:09:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>48,238</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26028091</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/FervidAsAFlame/pseuds/FervidAsAFlame, https://archiveofourown.org/users/highlynerdy/pseuds/highlynerdy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The waiting was hard, of course. But it wasn't the hardest part. </p><p>The hardest part was how everything kept <i>changing</i>. Everything was fast and slow; each life a small story that played out across the long messy scrawl of time. </p><p>And Arthur sleeps, missing it all -- so Merlin is determined to take in as much as he can. Over the centuries he forges on through terror and triumph, loneliness and love -- sometimes helping and sometimes hurting, but always striving with every passing life to be closer to the man he wants to be when Arthur finally returns to him.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Merlin (Merlin)/Original Male Character(s), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>166</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>278</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>After Camlann Big Bang, Merthur fic collection best read</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I watched the Merlin finale on August 1, 2019 and then was up half the night unable to sleep because I was so upset. Within 24 hours I had the first couple thousand words of a fix-it fic written, but then the story languished for a while as I got distracted by other projects. I’m so thankful to the ACBB mods for hosting the fest and giving me the impetus to complete it! I know for sure that I never would have completed it otherwise. Thank you so much for all the work and love you put into this fest year after year -- it means so much, especially to us creators who are wandering into the fandom years later. Camp Nano in July was especially helpful for me, so thank you so much to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/fifty_fifty/">Fifty_fifty </a> for setting it up! </p><p>I am so grateful for my outrageously talented artist, <a href="http://highlynerdy.tumblr.com/">HighlyNerdy</a> -- I never would have been brave enough to enter this fest if it hadn’t been for you agreeing at the outset to be my artist! Thank you so much for your gorgeous art that honestly just makes me giddy with happiness every time I look at it! I love it all so much and I’m just so honored that my words could inspire something as beautiful as the art you’ve created. Thank you so much for sharing your talent with us, and thank you so much for your patience and encouragement and support &lt;3 Please check out the <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26027308">art post</a> and give it some love!  </p><p>Huge, huge thank you to my amazing beta, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/aoigensou/">Aoigensou</a>, for cheering me on and held my hand literally every step of the way. You told me over and over that I *was* going to finish, and more importantly that even if I didn’t that it would be okay. Thank you so much for putting up with my endless questions and whining and thinking out loud and anxious word vomit -- there’s simply no way I would have finished this if it wasn’t for you! I’m so, so glad that we became friends &lt;3</p><p>Thank you so much to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwanFloatieKnight/">SwanFloatieKnight</a> - if there’s any historical accuracy at all in this fic, it’s because you patiently summarized WWI in a voicemail for my uneducated American ass. Also, I have the coolest spell in genuine Old English thanks to you! But really thank for just being there, for making me laugh every day (sometimes really, really hard XD), for cheering me on and telling me that I could do it and for just being your wonderful self. Hab dich lieb &lt;3</p><p>Thank you to Julia Joy for being the most wonderful friend, for getting me into Merthur in the first place, for lying to me about how the finale ended so that I was destroyed enough to write this fic, and for loving and encouraging it from its earliest stages right through to the end. I love you! &lt;3</p><p>FINALLY, I have to say thank you quickly to so many people who supported me during the writing of this fic (which is a polite way of saying I’d randomly show up in their DMs whining or reply to their asks with long ramblings about the story) but! Scarletnerd05 (who always left me the perfect comments at the perfect time), Nuttersinc, Tehfanglyfish, Candice, Merlioske, LarkBoyd, and Divine529 -- thank you all so so much for your support! I appreciate it more than I can say!!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p>The waiting was hard, of course.</p><p>But it wasn't the hardest part.</p><p>The hardest part was how everything kept <em>changing</em>. So many years passed, so many places were built up, torn down — recreated the same, or differently, or not at all. Customs and clothing, slang and whole languages, colonies and countries, peace and wars. The brief bright flare of heroes and villains interspersed with endless common, quiet lives. Everything was fast and slow; each life a small story that played out across the long messy scrawl of time.</p><p>Arthur slept, missing it all. And Merlin was determined to take in as much of it as he could, to keep a quiet sort of vigil over the changes that were happening in his world.</p><p>He waited for the time that he could share all of them with his king.</p><p>*</p><p>Being in Camelot without Arthur broke something in Merlin that he knew would never be healed, but he knew that the only thing that would hurt more would be to leave. In those terrible early days the only way the unbearable fog of grief seemed to be lightened was when he and Gwen took up the load together. They took turns crying in each other’s arms when they needed to, and sat alone together in the Queen’s chamber for hours on bad days.</p><p>There were a lot of bad days.</p><p>Merlin confessed his magic to her, unwilling to hide his true nature any longer. Especially with Arthur’s words, <em>I want you to always be you, </em>still ringing in his ears. Gwen nodded and told him tearfully that she knew, had done for ages — which made him angry at first and then unbearably sad. If only he had trusted her. If only he had trusted <em>Arthur</em>, things could have been so much — but no, he couldn’t go there. Tried to stay as far away from those thoughts as he could. It had to be enough that they would meet again someday.</p><p>Merlin also told Gwen what the dragon said, that Arthur would be back at Albion’s hour of greatest need. Her face lit up gloriously for one beautiful moment. Then he miserably told her that that it likely wouldn't be for generations, as they are entering a time of great peace. She didn't weep — it wouldn’t be befitting for a queen to weep at peace — but her face grew so still and terrible that he regretted the telling for the rest of her days.</p><p>In return, Gwen told Merlin that she was with Arthur's child and Merlin didn’t have the benefit of a title to censor his tears. He wept, without stopping, for so long that Gaius had to fix him the draught he usually reserved for hysterical women. After that, he stopped crying but disappeared into the forest, sat by the lake of Avalon for a fortnight just trying to find a way to cope with the fact that a part of Arthur would still be living and breathing when he wasn’t.</p><p>He missed his king.</p><p>Selfishly, he had been glad to have all of Camelot in mourning along with him. But now, with the news of an heir, townsfolk were beginning to smile again. They'd begun to believe that the peace that they had all made sacrifices to forge would stretch on under a continued reign of the Pendragons. Gwen was still sad, but she walked around the castle with her hands on her swollen belly, smiling to herself when she thought no one was watching.</p><p>Merlin hated her for it. Hated them all.</p><p>He was also terrified. Terrified the baby would die. Terrified childbirth would kill Gwen. Terrified the baby would look exactly like Arthur. Even more terrified it would be nothing like Arthur.</p><p>Thankfully, when the baby came it was as easy as could be expected. Gwen looked more at peace with her daughter in her arms than she had been for years, but when she settled the small solid weight into Merlin's trembling arms, his heart was ripped to shreds anew. He cried as quietly as he could. Little Beatrice seemed put out, waving her tiny arms in jerky arcs and protesting loudly.</p><p>"Here, give her back," Gwen murmured, smiling through her own tears. "You'll get her all soggy."</p><p>Merlin gave her back.</p><p>He didn't hold her again.</p><p>*</p><p>The first time it happened — before he learned to watch for it, to recognise — he was with Gwen.</p><p>Several years passed with the strange loping gait of grief, too fast and too slow all at once. His sorrow was as heavy and present as ever, but it seemed a lifetime since he had last laid hands on his King’s body.</p><p>In the space of a blink, Beatrice had grown to nearly the age Arthur had been when Merlin first met him. Though her features mercifully favoured her mother, her stride, her temper, her cocky smile, were all her father's. Any whispered rumours about her pedigree were quickly squashed the moment she picked up a sword on the training field. Merlin watched her from afar but didn't dare get too close. Almost two decades later, it was still much too soon.</p><p>Without a King for him to play manservant to, Merlin’s role in the court had become a bit of a mixed bag. He was at turns an advisor and a servant to Gwen as needed; and as Gauis had grown older it was expected that he would take over as court physician soon. Merlin didn’t really care to take Gauis’ place, but he knew it was expected of him for now, so he took up the mantle with as little sulking as possible. Gwen herself had grown into a wise and stately queen, beloved by her subjects and feared by her enemies. Yet when she and Merlin wandered the castle grounds, as they did now, it felt as if they were still but servants tangled up in Arthur's destiny. In a way he supposed they were.</p><p>Although Gwen was well-loved, her attempts to repeal the ban on magic in Camelot after Arthur’s death were met with opposition at every turn. That she was not a Pendragon by birth worked against her when it came to these kinds of sweeping policy decisions, much to her endless frustration. While she couldn’t change the law, she did end the persecution of magic users and forged bonds with the druids, which had earned her more than a few enemies. Some days Merlin thought he worked harder at protecting her than he ever did Arthur. But he tried to push those memories out of his mind. Consequently, Gwen trusted very few people, with Merlin and Beatrice being chief among those — so whenever she sought Merlin's council they tended to wander the castle to avoid listening ears.</p><p>On the particular day of Merlin’s revelation, they were strolling through a far, seldom used corner of the vast stables when two lads burst like flushed pheasants out of a vacant stall, both hitching up their drawers and reeking of sex as they scarpered. Gwen's jaw dropped and when her eyes met Merlin's she let out a very unqueenly giggle.</p><p>"That's the third time I've turned them up this month," she laughed. "I'm beginning to think I shall have to do something about it."</p><p>Merlin smiled absently but his brow furrowed. He poked his head around to peer into the stable and then up to the loft.</p><p>"But where have the lasses got to?"</p><p>"Merlin!" Gwen burst into a fresh gale of giggles. "There are no lasses! They were … you know …" She gestured helplessly but trailed off at the look on Merlin's face.</p><p>"With each other?" His voice came out in a whisper. He didn't know why.</p><p>"Yes, with each other! Are you truly the greatest sorcerer in the world, yet can’t imagine such a thing?”</p><p>Merlin flushed and looked away. Gwen's expression softened and she took his hand in hers and squeezed. Merlin couldn't meet her eyes, but if he could, he'd hate the pity he found there.</p><p>"They're both good lads. Hard workers," Gwen said meditatively, tucking her arm into Merlin's and starting to move them along again. "The stablemaster has been threatening retirement, and Walter's been with us for nearly a decade. I shall promote him to the position — then he'll have his own quarters in the stable where he and Tobyn can have their privacy. That should put an end to the sneaking around."</p><p>It was kind, but Merlin was barely listening. His body hummed with a different kind of magic, the kind created by finding out something new about the world and recognising it as a truth of yourself as well. He thought about Freya and how kissing her had felt all wrong, he thought about how he’d admired the way that Will’s lean muscles flexed when they swam together as lads, he thought about the handsome baker back in Ealdor that always snuck him an extra treat with a wink, and he thought of Arthur. Of course he thought of Arthur. The rise and fall of his bare chest as he slept, the furious power of his arms swinging a sword … Merlin’s fingertips, gentle on his neck. <em>Just, just hold me. Please.</em></p><p>“Sorry,” Merlin interrupted whatever Gwen had been saying, breaking away from her grip and jogging toward the door.</p><p>“I just remembered — got to — you know. For Gaius. Gotta go.”</p><p>“Of course,” Gwen said, surprised. She watched his agitated frame retreat across the courtyard and sighed. Sometimes it seemed like a very long time ago that she loved Arthur, but she knew that time was different for sorcerers, and that in many ways Merlin was yet very young. Although she’d burned with jealousy for months to know that Merlin would be with Arthur again one day, she had long ago made her peace that she wouldn’t see Arthur again in this lifetime and didn’t envy Merlin his wait.</p><p>“Oh Arthur,” she murmured, like a prayer. “You’ll be kind with him, won’t you?”</p><p>A breeze picked up, making the scattered leaves dance across the courtyard, catching them in the slanted light of the mid-autumn sun.</p><p>Gwen smiled to herself and turned back to the castle.</p><p>*</p><p>After that, Merlin started noticing these moments everywhere. He wondered … but couldn’t let himself wonder.</p><p>Sitting alone in his room, he held the brooch bearing Ygraine’s sigil that Arthur had given him, turning it over in his hands. Then he held it to his lips until the cold metal turned warm.</p><p>*</p><p>Merlin was aware on some level that there was magic for de-ageing, but decades later his heart was still too heavy to try and take it up. So he let himself age. He stayed in Camelot and buried Gaius. Travelled to Ealdor to bury his mother. Returned to Camelot and buried Leon. Percival. Gwen. Beatrice, who fell too young on the battlefield, but not before legalising magic in Camelot and bearing five healthy sons.</p><p>His body slowed down. His joints ached after a day of gathering herbs in the forest with his soon-to-be replacement for Court Physician. His hair grew long and grey, though his eyes remained bright as ever. When everyone he knew from before was gone, he quietly turned over his role and moved out of the castle. He returned to the cabin in the woods where he had tricked Arthur with his old man act and it made him laugh to think of what Arthur would say if he could see him now, looking the same.</p><p>Though he was living outside of the citadel, he remained in service of the crown of Camelot as an advisor to both the Court Sorcerer and Court Physician. They did not call on him often. It hurt his pride more than he would ever say that the Court Sorcerer title didn’t belong to him, but there was nothing to be done for it. There was no one left that knew of him, or what deeds he had done for Camelot, for all they amounted to in the end. What he would always think of as Arthur’s crown now sat atop the head of his eldest Great-Grandson, who always greeted Merlin politely, if absently, when he ventured to the castle for holidays and large tournaments.</p><p>The peace in Camelot stretched on as robustly as the Pendragon bloodline. Sometimes at night when Merlin was aching with loneliness for friends long dead, he reached out with his magic into the earth to feel the thrum of Arthur’s blood still in the kingdom, as sure and steady as a pulse. He fell asleep to it more nights than he cared to say.</p><p>*</p><p>It took another generation, but finally the inevitable twist of genetics happened — a Pendragon heir that bore an uncanny resemblance to Arthur. Merlin tried to resist, truly he did. But not long after the lad came of age, he left his cosy home in the woods and rejoined the bustle of castle life.</p><p>It was overwhelming in every way. For the first week he made gaffe after gaffe, his inexcusably old-fashioned ways laughed off as the folly of an old man, though no one here knew exactly how old he was. He got through most of it by laughing at himself, as he always had. Privately, he grit his teeth and resolved not to stay out of society for this long again.</p><p>Far more painful than his wounded pride was the way it felt to be in the castle again. It had been easy, holed up in his little cabin in the forest, to hold all his pain at a distance, let himself be lulled into a sleepy kind of dullness as years had slipped by marked only by the change of seasons. Here in his old bedroom in the new Court Physician's chambers, things long past seemed to rush at him in the dark whenever he tried to sleep. Although a hundred little things had changed, when he walked through the castle he expected to see a familiar face each time he turned a corner. He never did, and it hurt him anew each day.</p><p>After a month to get acclimated, he sent for Prince Gareth and got a good, close look at him. Arthur’s broad shoulders, Arthur’s gait, Arthur’s pillowy lips, Arthur’s easy smile. The eyes, thank god, were a clear green that must have echoed his mother’s. Even so, Merlin felt the stirring of something that he’d almost forgotten about being in Arthur’s presence. The way he came into a room and demanded all the attention, the way he carried himself proudly but not haughtily. Merlin sent the boy away quickly.</p><p>But he watched.</p><p>Prince Gareth was several brothers away from the crown, and more’s the pity, Merlin thought. Like Arthur, he was a gifted warrior — which had become more important in recent years, as the peaceful reign of Camelot was being challenged in every direction — but unlike Arthur he was exceedingly gentle off the battlefield. And hadn’t shown any interest in taking a bride.</p><p>He shouldn’t have. Merlin knew it was a terrible idea, but there was no one left to tell him no, so he went to the woods and gathered the necessary herbs. The next time there was a large battle followed by a victory celebration, he slipped into the tavern disguised as what he still thought of as his true self — the young manservant. It took him the best part of an hour and two pints of ale to slow his racing heart. He had to keep reminding himself that no one could possibly recognise him; that it had been generations since anyone paid him any attention at all, let alone seen him in his youth.</p><p>He fought off the advances of several over-interested bar-maids, but by a stroke of luck managed to find Prince Gareth nearly alone. As he moved closer the guards eyed him warily — gods, generations later and still half of them looked like Gwaine’s stock — but he was able to win them over using his natural charm and perhaps just a nudge of magic.</p><p>No magic was necessary for Prince Gareth, who turned to Merlin with a cocksure smile after he managed to slip into the seat across from him.</p><p>“Hello. Haven’t seen you here before, have I?” the prince said, seeming to have already had enough ale to do away with formalities.</p><p>“Um … no, sir,” Merlin said, trying to remember how to breathe. Speaking to the prince in the physician’s chamber had been one thing — there the youth’s eyes had wandered around the quarters as the old man quizzed him on his health, clearly bored and trying not to fidget. But now that his eyes were bright with interest and focused solely on Merlin, it was hard to concentrate. “I’m new to Camelot.”</p><p>“Ahhh, I knew it,” Gareth said, leaning in to be heard over the revelry. “I’d have remembered your face.”</p><p>Merlin felt his cheeks turn pink and hoped the dim light of the tavern would hide them. Before he could think of something to say, the prince was speaking again.</p><p>“I’d love to show you around some time, if you’d like,” he said, with a raise of eyebrows that said he knew very well what Merlin would like. He couldn’t help but laugh in response.</p><p>“Aren’t you the prince? Are you really meant to be playing guide to a peasant?”</p><p>“Ha!” the prince crowed, sitting back in his seat again and crossing his arms across his chest with a grin. “You do know who I am. Well, it’s true that I’m a prince, but as I’ve four older brothers there isn’t much in the way of royal duties keeping me in the castle.”</p><p>A little storm cloud seemed to cross his face, but then was gone again when Merlin blinked. For a moment Merlin wondered in horror at how awful young Arthur would have been if he’d had younger siblings to terrorize.</p><p>“I’m the best looking one though,” Gareth told him conspiratorially, and just like that Merlin was back in the present again. As the night went on, Gareth seemed only too eager for Merlin’s attention – and Merlin was only too happy to give it. The prince was much more skilled in the art of making conversation than Arthur had been, and Merlin found himself nearly weeping with laughter as he pointed out his brothers in the crowd and told Merlin stories from their youth.</p><p>They flirted in fits and starts, both feeling the other out, but becoming more bold as the ale flowed and the sun set. When the prince shifted in his seat to press his calf snugly against Merlin’s under the table, Merlin both thrilled and despaired. He had been reminded time and again in the course of their conversation that this wasn’t Arthur, but he liked Gareth. Maybe just for tonight, it could be enough.</p><p>When the night grew late, Gareth gently but firmly took the cup out of Merlin’s unsteady hand and set it on the table.</p><p>“C’mon,” he said, eyes sparkling. His voice held the familiar authority of a man who knows that he will be followed.</p><p>He raised his hood to cover his face and led Merlin out to the dark alleyway behind the tavern. Clearly they weren’t the first to have the idea, and Gareth raised Arthur’s sardonic eyebrow as the varying sounds of passion echoed from further down the way. Merlin laughed nervously and felt heat rise to his face. It seemed ridiculous that in his ancient wisdom and eternal power he could still be affected by something so human as arousal. But Gareth just smiled at him and crowded him against the rough-hewn stone wall. Their bodies pressed together from the waist down and Gareth was close enough that his golden hair brushed against Merlin’s forehead. His strong hands flexed at Merlin’s waist, holding him in place as he tilted his head to run his nose against Merlin’s neck. His breath caught and he shivered, resisting the urge to squirm where Gareth is holding him down.</p><p>“You gorgeous thing,” Gareth murmured into his ear with a voice made deeper by ale. “Where have you been hiding from me all this time?” His teeth caught Merlin’s ear, scraping just a bit, and Merlin gasped for breath.</p><p>“I—” Gareth didn’t let him finish, shifting a thigh to press between his legs and leaning in to capture his mouth. Merlin, biting back a whimper, closed his eyes and let himself have this. Let himself imagine that it was Arthur’s full lips slanting across his, Arthur’s hardness rutting into his belly, Arthur’s strong hand gripping the back of his head. He let himself be overwhelmed by sensation as they kissed furiously, hands scrabbling across warm skin, bodies pressed tightly together. Gareth paused to untie his breeches, and then with a laugh when he saw Merlin’s dazed expression, reached over to undo his as well.</p><p>“Relax,” he whispered into Merlin’s ear as he gathered their pricks together in his hand. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”</p><p>Then he started stroking and it was all over too fast.</p><p>After Gareth had tried his best to clean them up with a handkerchief, he caught Merlin’s lips in a surprisingly sweet kiss. His arms snaked around Merlin and held him tight for long moments as their lips met again and again. Merlin, still coming down from the bright haze of pleasure, wondered if some echo of Arthur’s blood was dancing in Gareth’s veins the way it was in his. It felt beyond good, felt <em>right</em> in some ethereal way that he couldn’t articulate, even to himself.</p><p>“Say you’ll come see me again. In my chambers,” Gareth pulled back, looked at him too earnestly and clear-eyed. “I want more of this. More of you.”</p><p>He smiled and ran a gentle hand down Merlin’s flank. Merlin couldn't speak but nodded once. Gareth gave him Arthur’s very best smile and leant in to kiss him again. He rubbed his face against Merlin’s like an overly-affectionate cat and started off toward the castle, his guards appearing from the shadows to flank him after a few steps. He looked back once to raise a hand to Merlin.</p><p>Merlin held his hands to his lips and stayed propped against the wall of the tavern for several long minutes. Once he was certain he could walk, he slowly made his way back to his old man’s quarters in the castle. He felt dazed and dream-like and restless. He wanted to go to Gareth again immediately, but didn’t want to draw undue attention. Tomorrow. Tomorrow he would.</p><p>After half an hour sat in a stupor, Merlin felt an overwhelming urge to leave the castle come over him. He didn’t know why but he couldn’t bear to be here in this castle of memories tonight. He slipped Ygraine’s sigil into his pocket on a whim and started the trek through the forest to his cabin, the heavy weight of the brooch patting reassuringly against his thigh as he trotted along in the moonlight.</p><p>By the time he arrived at the cabin, the de-ageing potion had worn off and Merlin was the white-haired, foolish old man once again. He laid in his bed, shaking and unable to sleep for hours before he rose to make himself a strong sleeping draught. After downing it, he fell into a deep slumber and dreamt of being Court Sorcerer with Arthur smiling by his side.</p><p>The surprise invasion from the north came at dawn.</p><p>When he woke and returned to the village, he was met with the news that all the Pendragon heirs were dead.</p><p>He packed up what clothes and herbs he could fit into a rucksack and fled.</p><p>Camelot fell.</p><p>*</p><p>He wandered, half-delirious, not knowing which paths to take or where he was. He crashed through the forest for hours, leaking brusts of magic without meaning to and unable to stop. Undergrowth flung itself out of his way, soil turned up under his feet and boulders split and crumbled with mighty cracks. He stumbled unseeing into a breezy sun-drenched meadow and crouched to rest. The winds stilled and the birdsong seemed to pause for a moment and he had a horrible realisation.</p><p>The thrum of Arthur’s bloodline, the pulsing constant that had been Arthur’s blood still singing its song in the world, was gone. The silence knocked Merlin to his knees. His fists tightened, clawing into the soil. He panted for a moment, then threw back his head and let out a howl so loud and terrible that the sky seemed to shake. The terrible noise kept coming, and some part of Merlin was aware that he couldn’t make himself stop if he wanted to. And he didn’t want to. He felt as if the broken shell of his body would remain here, on the ground and wailing, until the end of time.</p><p>As a shadow swept over his face, his eyes startled open and he was shocked into silence. Kilgharrah alighted on the ground and lumbered closer. It was hard to tell whether his face showed more amusement or pity, but either way Merlin felt the sorrow in his bones flash into rage like quicksilver.</p><p>“What are you doing here,” he spit out. “I thought I told you to stay away.”</p><p>“You called me.”</p><p>The dragon was definitely amused.</p><p>The anger evaporated from Merlin’s veins as quickly as it had flared up and a deep fatigue took the place of both anger and sorrow. Merlin’s frame began to shake, his teeth clattering together painfully. “T-t-they’re all gone,” he gasped out finally. “All of them. It’s gone. I can’t feel him. I can’t feel him.”</p><p>The dragon cocked his head and considered the world’s most powerful sorcerer, brought to his knees.</p><p>He puffed a hot breath from his snout and nudged Merlin onto his back. Merlin used his last bit of strength to clamber up. The dragon crouched down and then launched himself into the sky. Merlin didn’t know where they were going, but he didn't care. He pressed his forehead to the slick, cold scales and let the rushing of the wind past his ears drown everything else out.</p><p>Kilgharrah landed with a gentle thump and Merlin slid to the ground. It sounded like the wind was still rushing by his ears, but when he opened his eyes it was to an inky black sea roiling furiously. Merlin hugged his cloak around himself and stared out toward the horizon. A door shut softly behind him and he turned to see a youngish woman emerging from the yellow glow of a small cottage. She went to the dragon solemnly and he lowered his head so that she could lay her hands on his brow. There was no noise but the rush of the sea and wind, but the two gazed into each other's eyes intently. Merlin recognised a druid symbol on her forearm before his eyes slipped shut again. He could feel the whispers of communication curling past him but didn’t bother to listen.</p><p>“Take care of him,” Kilgharrah said at last, and swooped into the air without a backward glance. Merlin didn’t watch him fly away. The woman swept her long, dark plait over one shoulder and took his hand gently. Her hand was warm and firmer than he expected. He let her lead him into the cottage. He drank from a dipper but shook his head when she tried to hand him a slice of bread. She led him to a dark room with a narrow cot and gently guided him to lie on it, then draped a thick blanket over him to guard against the sea’s damp.</p><p>“Rest,” she spoke at last, and the words seemed to have a whisper of magic to them. Merlin was too exhausted to struggle against it, so he shut his eyes and obeyed.</p><p>He woke, disoriented and with the grogginess of having slept for far too long. It was night and the cottage was silent but for the distant hushing of the sea. Merlin gazed up at the thatched ceiling, trying to think of where he might be, when he felt a flutter. He started and sat up in the cot quickly. His eyes unfocused slightly as he turned his sight within.</p><p>There was <em>something</em> there. It wasn’t the steady thrum of the bloodline that he had been able to feel somewhere in his gut, but just a tiny whisper of a spark in his chest. He held his breath and raised one trembling hand to press over his heart.</p><p>It was there. Just the faintest impression of magic, but it was undeniably Arthur’s energy.</p><p>Merlin sobbed with relief. By the time he finished, he saw through the window that it was first light and the horizon had transferred into a living thing of blushing rose gold. He slipped from the cottage, shucked his clothes among the dunes and plunged into the sea. His magic flared up and out of him in erratic waves and he could feel the elemental power of the sea thrumming around him. Curiosity won out and he <em>pushed</em> into the energy with his magic and was rewarded when his body began to change around him. He emerged a young man once again — gasping from the cold and laughing in relief.</p><p>His king still lived in him. He could find a way to go on.</p>
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<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Although the revelation of Arthur’s spark kept Merlin from going to absolute pieces again, the loss of the Pendragons and Camelot still weighed heavily. After the giddy rush of that first jubilant morning, he spent many days morosely sprawled across the narrow bed, one hand resting on his breast, reaching to feel the flickering string of destiny that still connected him to Arthur’s spirit. He also mourned considerably when he realised that de-ageing himself had polished his body and erased all the scars that he’d earned in Arthur’s service. It hurt more than he would have believed possible to lose the last physical ties to his time with Arthur. He struggled to catch a breath as he ran his hand obsessively over the top of the thigh where there had been a gnarled scar, digging his fingernails in until the new flesh bled. </p><p>He was allowed a week of this before the dragon's voice growled low in his ear one morning, its tone a clear warning. Merlin preferred to never see the dragon’s smug lizard face again, so he closed his eyes and numbed himself to the overpowering grief as well as he could. Then he rose and went to the druid woman to see how he may be of help. </p><p>She directed him to chop wood for the fire and he set to work. He fetched water, scrubbed the floors and helped with the washing. It felt good to be useful. They didn’t talk much and neither of them smiled. After another week, it occured to Merlin to wonder whether she had a connection to the fall of Camelot as well, but he knew better than to ask. They fell into a simple routine together and he didn’t hear from the dragon again. Far away from their cottage, wars were raging as the remaining royalty grabbed power and the fate of magic was sealed. Merlin didn’t ask about it, and if the druid woman heard anything during her trips into town, she didn’t share. </p><p>The druid woman’s name, Merlin soon learned, was Deirdre. Merlin liked her, liked the simple cottage, liked his isolation, liked feeling useful again, liked the roaring peace of the sea. Liked it all as much as he’d liked anything since Arthur’s death. And so he stayed. </p><p>Dierdre earned her modest living as a potter, spending her days expertly turning out her wares and then carefully packing them up and bringing them to the nearby town for market day. She earned just enough to trade for food and other essentials, then returned with a fresh load of clay, carefully dug from a secret location.</p><p>Merlin watched her, mesmerised and crowing with delighted appreciation at the things she’d been able to coax from the wheel. It wasn't long before she offered him the wheel himself. He sat across from her, eager to try his hand and confident that it couldn’t be that difficult. </p><p>It was. And his first few attempts were awful. </p><p>Deirdre worked the wheel gently with her foot while Merlin poked and squeezed into the clay, which went lopsided almost immediately and collapsed in a heap. He tried to push his thumbs down into the slippery lump slightly gentler, with the same results. After the third time, he huffed in frustration. </p><p>“Alright,” he said, looking up. “Tell me what I’m doing wrong. I know you’re dying to.” </p><p>Deirdre just smiled to herself and wrapped her hands around his from across the wheel.</p><p>“You can’t change the clay by pushing it,” she said calmly. “You must keep your fingers still and constant and let the clay change around them.” She demonstrated deftly. “You may nudge. You may change your position slightly to allow the clay to adjust. But you can’t make it change. Be patient and it will come around to the change itself.” </p><p>Merlin snuck a look at her, but if her words had a broader meaning beyond clay her eyes didn’t betray it. </p><p>Eventually she left him to start their evening meal, but he kept at his task doggedly. By the time she came to call him to the table, he proudly held up a small bowl that was only slightly lopsided. </p><p>Deirdre beamed at him and proudly took the bowl to the kiln to be fired, where it promptly cracked and fell apart. Merlin’s face fell as well, but she just patted his shoulder. </p><p>“It happens sometimes, even to me. We can see the way the clay holds itself, but we can’t understand what’s going on inside. You’ll try again.”</p><p>And so he did. </p><p>Over the course of the summer, he spent long hours working the wheel determinedly, letting the clay trail against his gentle fingers. There was something meditative about the process that emptied his mind and let peace fall over him, so he kept at it as often as he could. </p><p>Before long, Merlin was trusted to make the simple bowls and cups that were most sought after, so Deirdre could spend more time turning experimental pieces that were more art than function. She was successful in selling pieces to several noblemen, which resulted in the pieces coming into fashion. After that, she and Merlin were able to live more comfortably and even set a little coin aside. </p><p>Years passed quietly but steadily. Eventually Deirdre agreed to take Merlin to learn how to dig the clay. He wasn’t sure if it was because she'd finally grown to trust him more, or because the trips had gotten harder on her arthritic back and hips. Merlin had mastered the art of holding his body’s age in time, and since Deirdre already knew he was a sorcerer, and no one else ever saw him, he stayed more or less a young man. </p><p>Deirdre asked him every week without fail if he would attend the market with her. It had become a bit of a joke, but he couldn’t help but notice the worry in her eyes when he declined every time. He didn’t know how to tell her that even years later he couldn’t trust himself to be around other people. He couldn’t let the mistake he made with Gareth happen again — if he had just stayed content with what he had, if he hadn’t been so lovesick and restless, he would have been in the castle when the attack came, and maybe he could have saved them all. Even if he had given in to his baser wants and went back to Gareth’s room that night, perhaps there would have been a chance of keeping him alive. But he let himself get lost in his own head, and for that Arthur’s lineage had been wiped out. Deirdre had warned Merlin that magic was once again banned across the land. And Merlin knew there was no one but himself to blame. </p><p>But more so than his guilt, what he couldn’t find words to explain was that he couldn’t be around people when he <em>wasn’t</em> just a person anymore. He barely felt human. He was just one waiting, content to let the world slowly change and the seasons shift around him until such a time when the inevitable must come to pass. </p><p>And time did pass. Sometimes Merlin felt as though he was but a meaningless fixed point bearing witness — when each day was the same as the last, they ran together in a soft and meaningless blur. Tucked away on this spit of land by the sea, he felt as safe and contained as a dragon in its egg. </p><p>But as he knew, even dragons must hatch eventually.</p><p>*</p><p>It seemed to happen all at once — Deirde grew older, her hair turned silver, then white. She was her usual self, silent and hardworking with a mirthful streak, and then she wasn’t. Her body shut down. Merlin did all he could, reached far back into the memory of his time with Gaius and tried to make her as comfortable as possible. And through it all, he panicked internally. <em>What will become of me? Where can I go now?</em></p><p>He’d made up his mind that he would stay at the cottage rather than inflict himself on society. Surely Deirdre wouldn’t mind him staying on in the house after she was gone. He could age back into the old man and take her place at the market (<em>why </em>hadn’t he ever gone to the market, he didn’t even know where it <em>was</em>) and stay here forever and everything would be fine. He’d be fine. </p><p>Though he hadn't felt a trace of the dragon since he’d arrived, the faint echo of a faraway growl purred in his ear. </p><p>*</p><p>Merlin knew it wouldn't be long now. </p><p>He sat by Deirdre’s side, alternately wiping her brow and offering her sips of cool water. She’d stopped taking food two days before and had been sleeping most of the day. But as it grew late and the veil between the worlds grew thin, she opened her eyes and weakly gestured Merlin closer. </p><p>“I want to tell you my secret,” she said, meeting his gaze levelly. “I too loved a Pendragon.” </p><p>“Oh, I don’t — I mean — it’s —” Merlin stammered, and hated himself. Could he not admit it now, even to himself? Even to this dying woman? He shut his foolish mouth and met her eyes, waiting for her to go on. </p><p>She sighed and took his hand, squeezed it. </p><p>“When you get your chance … and you will … you must …” she struggled for words, her breath coming shallower. “Be brave,” she finished at last. “Will you?” </p><p>Merlin’s eyes filled and he could feel his face crumpling. But he nodded, then sniffed and sat up a bit straighter. “Yes. I will.”</p><p>Deirdre shut her eyes. “Good. Good, my lad. I wasn’t. I ran ... hid away … and I lived with the regret … all my days.”</p><p>“I pray you’ll find peace,” Merlin’s voice shook more than he’d like. “In the afterlife.” </p><p>A beautiful smile blossomed on Deirdre’s wrinkled grey face. “She waits for me there.” </p><p>They were her last words. </p><p>Merlin prepared her body for burial and tried not to think about the last time that he laid out the body of someone so beloved. He pushed the skiff out to sea and watched it until it wasn’t even a speck on the horizon, then he sat for a long time, staring out over the rolling tide. He put his hand over his breast and allowed himself to plunge into his memories of Arthur in a way he hadn’t let himself for lifetimes. His chest rose and fell beneath his palm, and his heart beat steadily as the tears ran down his cheeks. </p><p>The sun rose. Merlin did too, feeling more hopeful than he had since he arrived. He carefully packed up his few possessions and loaded them onto the cart, along with the pottery wheel and the coin they’d saved. He locked up the cottage and headed determinedly into the village. </p><p>*</p><p>Merlin travelled farther north than he had intended to and rented a tiny cottage on the outskirts of the village. Then he grit his teeth and started again on several rough months of reintegrating into modern society. He was determined that this time would be his last — no more retreating for long periods. He didn’t want to spend another moment wondering what part of his dress or manner or speech had so gravely offended the third old woman of the day. </p><p>He made several attempts to magic some clothes that were more with the current style than his old tunic and neckerchief, but gave up when he couldn’t make a straight seam for the life of him. He turned over his dignity and most of his coin to a plump, sharp woman known to be the best seamstress in the village. Despite her reputation for not being particularly agreeable, she took an instant liking to Merlin and had him kitted out impeccably within a week. Agnes had an easy way of relating gossip — from whose milk has started to go sour due to a penny-pinching husband, to rumours about the new royalty in London — that didn’t require him to expose his lack of knowledge. In fact, he barely got a word in edgewise when he came to be measured, only managing a thoughtful “Hmm” or “Ahh” at the appropriate moment as she moved swiftly around him, measuring and marking and pinning meticulously as she kept up a steady stream of chatter. </p><p>He explained to her that he’s a potter and was looking to start selling his wares and she clapped her hands delightedly. </p><p>“Now that’ll do us just fine,” she said, measuring his inseam mercilessly as he balanced on a stool in her cosy cottage. “Old Margaret has done it for years, but she got the coughing illness this winter, rest her soul – if her daughter had taken better care of her perhaps, but of course she’s more interested in dodging that awful husband of hers and making eyes at the Miller’s boy — and everyone in the village has been handling their crockery real careful since then. They’ll be real glad to have your wares available, Mr. Emrys.”</p><p>She spent the rest of his fitting chattering about the best place to set up his wares in the market, advising him who would try to cheat him, and promising to introduce him to several people who could use his wares. Merlin thanked her and was congratulating himself on the completely smooth transition into society, when Agnes sighed deeply and said with astonishing frankness “The king’s gone and outlawed buggery again.”</p><p>Merlin’s entire body froze and he felt his magic well up under his ribs, waiting for the need to make a hasty escape. Which was ridiculous, as everyone who had been alive the last time Merlin had so much as touched another man was long dead, but he knew instinctively that aside from his magic, his proclivities were the next most dangerous thing about him. He forced himself to relax and give a neutral chuckle, but Agnes’s sharp eyes had been watching and she smiled to herself. </p><p>“Of course, that’s probably because someone turned His Highness down and he’s got to have his little snit. I suspected, dear, but you’ve as good as confirmed it – bodies don’t lie, even when we want them to – trust a seamstress to know! Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me. It’s only I have a bad matchmaking habit … once you’re settled I’ll send John over to make your acquaintance and I think he’ll suit you. He turned even redder than you are. Mind, if he gives you any trouble come back and let me know. Come back anyway, I’m getting some new fabric at the end of spring and I want to try a new style – you could pull it off, with hips like that, bless you. There, off you go now. I’ll see you at market.” </p><p>And thus Merlin, still sputtering in protest, was turned back into the street unceremoniously and walked home in a fog of guilt, fear, and excitement. </p><p>He laid in his bed that night, hand over the faint pulsing in his chest, and for the first time let himself think about what he had shared with Prince Gareth. He thought about how it had felt, what he truly wanted, and what he thought it was fair to let himself have. </p><p>By the time a tall, broad-shouldered boy with a shock of dark brown hair and a sweet smile approached Merlin in the market a month later, Merlin had already made up his mind. He couldn’t have what he truly wanted now – perhaps not ever – but it wasn’t going to stop him from enjoying himself. He’d had enough sorrow for several lifetimes and he was determined to have some fun this go-around. </p><p>John turned his hat nervously in his hands and smiled shyly from under long lashes. Merlin was utterly charmed. He asked John to come to his cottage to help him with some work that needed two men, and took him to bed that night. Their coupling was as gentle and sweet as John himself and afterward he held Merlin in his arms in the gathering twilight. Merlin happily sank into the strong embrace and tried not to think of anything. </p><p>After that they fell into a pattern, careful not to be conspicuous but getting together for an hour of pleasure once a fortnight or so. Merlin was happy to have the comfort – he was getting to be known and well liked in the village, but the nights were long and lonely – but he worried about John. He seemed more affectionate than Merlin, and Merlin knew there was a limit to what he could give him when his heart already belonged to another. </p><p>Agnes smirked at him when he came back to be measured for a new autumn jacket. “The boy is gone on you; I’m worried he’ll die of a broken heart when he has to marry that girl from over-village. Didn’t he tell you? Oh, yes, she’s been promised to him since they were children, the families are close, you know. But that’s still a bit off, so no use worrying about it yet.” Merlin was sure that the relief he felt at this was palpable, but if Agnes noticed, she didn’t mention it, just smiled the self-satisfied smile of someone who knew their business well. </p><p>The day eventually came when John arrived at the cottage to say good-bye, much to Merlin’s relief. Merlin had tried to gently cool their relationship as the spring wedding grew nearer, but John had only grown clingier and more pitiful. Merlin was beginning to be afraid that he would have to be outright cruel or that John would do something foolish, but in the end John did what he must. He warned Merlin that he wouldn’t be able to maintain a friendship with him, as it would be too painful, which Merlin had expected. The token of his regard that he has brought along was what Merlin hadn’t been expecting. </p><p>The kitten yowled furiously and battered his tiny body against the sides of the basket he was enclosed in. When his golden head poked out at last, he surveyed the cottage, meowing triumphantly, and promptly swaggered to Merlin’s pillow, tucked his wee tail regally about himself and fell asleep. </p><p>“What will you call him?” John asked from the doorway, ready to leave for the last time. </p><p>Merlin’s eyes shone.</p><p>“Arthur.” </p><p>*</p><p>The cat was a bloody nightmare, and exactly what he needed. Merlin took to chatting with him for company, and then out of habit. It helped. Merlin liked to pretend that he was reporting back to his king all the news of the village and all the ways that the world had changed while he was sleeping. Sometimes the cat looked at him attentively as if his words were a marvel — sometimes he slept upside-down on the bed with his teeth bared and his legs sprawled. Just like his namesake, thought Merlin with a smirk, buried his face in the cat’s soft belly and was rewarded with a scratch. </p><p>He still went to see Agnes frequently, even when he didn’t need new clothes, but he turned down all her offers of new men and just laughed when she started suggesting ladies. He had gotten that particular itch scratched and was content to wait now, spending his nights stroking the cat and letting the hum of Arthur in his chest lull him to sleep. He became established enough as the village potter that he didn’t strictly <em>need</em> to go to market, but he did anyway, determined not to let himself slip back into melancholy. He helped out other sellers, chatted with his neighbours, played with the children, and brought scraps to the dogs that roamed the village. When the first Arthur succumbed to old age, he found another yellow kitten which he also called Arthur. It was a quiet life, but a good and sweet one. </p><p>He let himself age. </p><p>Some nights he still felt ancient and haunted. Others he woke up from nightmares of cold water closing over his head and Arthur reaching for him. But he was able to carry on. </p><p>By the time he was an old man, he’d grown restless and ready to move on. His joints ached and he grew tired easily. His arthritic hands could no longer work the clay on the wheel and a fresh-faced girl had moved into the market to take his place.</p><p>He yearned for a rebirth.</p><p>He prepared to leave his little cottage, the first place he’d been truly happy since Arthur’s death. But now he felt mostly exhausted and wrung out. He despaired sometimes, didn’t know if he had the energy to do this again — to keep doing it for as long as he needed to. But Agnes was gone and John was an old man as well, and he knew that it’s time for him to move on. </p><p>Once again, he locked up a little cottage that had been dear to him and set off into the unknown. </p><p>*</p><p>Once he was safely out of the village, Merlin travelled into the forest until he reached a river. He was strong enough now to do the magic without the elemental amplifier, but it was a beautiful midsummer's night and he fancied a swim. He stripped down and plunged his old man’s body into the cool, rushing water. He gathered his magic around him and transformed, then burst through the surface, throwing back his head and laughing at the moonlight. His body and mind were fresh and new and he swam a lazy breaststroke to the shore, where he climbed out and started making camp. </p><p>The pleasure of having his body made young again fueled him through his chores. All his aches were gone, his stamina had returned and the hard work of gathering wood and setting up a shelter filled his body with a satisfied tiredness instead of bone-deep weariness.</p><p>As he laid down and reflexively placed his hand to his breast, he froze then sat up with a start. He was still for a moment then broke into a grin. He wasn’t imagining it – the pulse that he’d come to think of as Arthur’s soul had gotten stronger. Merlin had lived a lifetime and gotten that much closer to being reunited with his king. </p><p>As he rolled over to settle down for sleep, the thought filled him with such a delicious ripple of energy that he was overcome with a hot longing he hadn’t experienced in an age. Well then. For tonight, he’d take himself in hand under the stars, and when he got to the next village he’d see what arrangements could be made. Buggery was still punishable by death, but that had never stopped him before. </p><p>A fortnight later found him in a new village. He rented a room above the tavern and set out to find where the city’s knights were stationed. No more besotted country boys – this time around he was going to make sure to only look for a temporary bit of fun. And if the gleaming armor put him in the mind of his king, well — it was no one’s business but his. He thought he must be mad to display himself like a tart before the very men sworn to uphold the king’s laws, but he had a plan. </p><p>He sauntered past the mounted knights, stretching casually to display his newly reformed lithe body and giving a coy backward glance as he moved by. He reached out tentatively with his magic and was surprised to find that his instinct was correct — in some amorphous way, his magic probed the level of interest that the men had, their desire curling like tendrils through the air and intercepted by his magic. One of the knights was definitely blinking brightly. He dared another look back and caught the one gaze lingering – yes, with the black hair and bright blue eyes. Excellent. </p><p>Echoing somewhere in his head was what sounded like a warning growl, likely from a dragon unimpressed at his wielding an ancient and immense power to go on the pull. But as he wasn’t even sure if the dragon was corporeal any longer, he decided that if he didn't like it then he could bloody well appear and stop Merlin himself. Preferably after he’d had a good shag. </p><p>Later, with his back pressed up against a stone wall and his mouth crushed under the burly guard's, his mind was blissfully empty of thoughts other than <em>Arthur, Arthur, Arthur</em>. He gave his body over to the pleasure and when it was done, he returned to his room and slept soundly. </p><p>He dreamt of a misty lake and a sleeping king.</p><p>*</p><p>After that he got into a bit of a routine — he lived a quiet life learning a trade, or continued to expand his pottery skills, or occasionally even undertook medical studies to keep his knowledge up to date. He always did his best to befriend the best local seamstress, who unfailingly kept him up on fashion, gossip, and men who might be of his bent. He made friends and helped out the community, but as much as possible he remained aloof and to himself. He grew old again and again, left each town to reclaim his youth, and felt Arthur’s spirit grow ever closer with each giddying rush of rebirth. </p><p>Each time he started fresh with his shockingly new body, he’d nearly always take a lover — only for a short time, and nearly always a knight or soldier if he could get one — and revelled in the joy of being alive and knowing that Arthur <em>would</em> return, and they would be together, that they would know each other fully. Even if he could never have <em>this</em> again once Arthur was back, he knew that Arthur wouldn’t begrudge him the temporary comfort of human affection. Well, he hoped in any case. Because he had no doubts that Arthur <em>did</em> love him, and even if it could never be more than the deep love of the closest of friends that they’d shared in the past, he knew that it would be enough for him. In the meantime, he’d take what he could. </p><p>It wasn’t a conscious thing, but Merlin was aware on some level that he was slowly returning to the place he’d avoided since the time when Pendragons still walked the earth. The series of villages he chose over centuries slowly spiraled closer and closer to the Lake at Avalon until at last he sighed and, unable to put it off for any longer, went to the very lake where his king slept to perform his transformation. </p><p>When he broke the surface, his youth restored, he gasped for air and doubled over, his hands braced on his knees and body trembling. The water <em>adored</em> him. He could feel it. The sheets sloughing off of him were like gentle hands smoothing down his back and sides. Drops clung to his eyelashes and on his chin longer than they should. Merlin didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, so he did a bit of both. </p><p>He waded closer to the shore where the water was shallow and plopped himself down cross-legged. Almost without thinking he scooped up handfuls of water to splash over his head, the back of his neck, his face, his arms. Finally he cupped his hands and drank. The effect was already starting to wear off, whatever interaction his magic had with the water dissipating and growing weaker, but Merlin felt more joyful and alive than he had in a very long time. </p><p>As he made up his camp in the wooded section of the lake and looked out to its now ancient tower, he knew that he wouldn’t be able to leave this place again until his king was by his side, no matter how much longer that was. </p><p>He was going to have to get creative. </p><p>
  
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<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>First though, he was going to have to get bedded, because it had been far too long and he felt far too good. A hulking blond lad he met in the baths and followed home was the happy recipient of all Merlin’s joyous energy. When they were both completely spent, Merlin found himself so exhausted that he uncharacteristically spent the night. </p>
<p>Of course he dreamt again. </p>
<p>It was a dark, storm-torn evening. He was standing on the shores of Lake Avalon, but instead of the tree-lined shore that Merlin remembered, the village of Avalon was hovering close. The water looked alive, its surface rippling and twisting under the wind and pelting rain. There was a thick, grey mist that seemed to loom above him. A huge willow tree fairly danced in the tempest, tossing its long, sweeping branches in the dim light. Merlin turned around, trying to get his bearings, and could make out a manor home behind him. The house was stone with white-shuttered windows and a gentle hill rolling down from its back garden to the lake. Merlin heard a splash and a crack from behind him and whipped around. There was a faint light shining through the murky water, bubbling up to the surface. He started to run toward the water, knowing his king was coming. If he just stretched out his arms out a little farther he could —</p>
<p>Merlin crashed out of bed and flailed on the cold floor for a moment before he remembered where he was. From above, his lover snored on, undisturbed. Merlin was shaking all over. The dream had been so vivid that he had been sure it was real. He quietly got back into his clothes and slipped out the door into the pre-dawn light. </p>
<p>The morning was chilly, a grey fog that echoed his dream lurked in the streets of the lower town as he made his way back to the lake. It didn’t take him long to find the right place. The house looked much newer than it had in the dream and the willow tree was nowhere to be seen, but he knew it was the right place by the loud thrumming in his breast. He squinted up at the house and then trailed down to the shore of the lake. He pulled his boots off and hitched up his breeches, then stepped in. The water lapped at his calves in a sweet caress as he closed his eyes and reached with his magic. There was a faint flicker of answering magic, followed by a sudden push strong and unexpected enough that he staggered several steps backward. He took it for the warning it was — he wouldn’t try again until he knew the time was right. </p>
<p>Merlin pulled his magic back into himself and waded out of the water with a disappointed sigh, then turned to make his way back to the village. It was easy enough to find a room to let for the week and once safely closed within its dingy walls, he allowed himself a day to wallow in his memories. </p>
<p>The next morning he paid for a bath, dressed himself neatly, and made his way back to the stone house by the lake. The morning was soft and pink. Wispy tendrils of mist curled invitingly over the lake. Before he turned up the steep, oak-lined drive to the house, Merlin paused along the shore to trail his fingers lovingly through the water and lost several minutes that way while the sun finished rising. He finally stood with a grin, wiping his hands against his trousers, and whistled cheerfully the rest of the way to the house.</p>
<p>The cheer didn’t last for long. </p>
<p>His first two knocks went ignored, but he persisted until finally the door opened a crack, revealing a sliver of a middle-aged man’s face. The face was scowling. </p>
<p>“What is it,” the man behind the door snapped. “What do you want?”</p>
<p>Merlin was so surprised he took a step back. </p>
<p>“Good morning, sir,” he stammered. “I was looking for work and I was hoping that I could be of-”</p>
<p>“I don’t need any help!” the man glared at Merlin through the crack of the door, opening it a little wider. “Who told you I need help? Was it that vicar? No good, busy-bodied—”</p>
<p>“It wasn’t the vicar!” Merlin jumped in. “He didn’t say anything. I mean — I don’t even know the vicar! Didn’t even know there was a vicar! It’s just I’m new in town and I was hoping-”</p>
<p>“Hoping what? That you could come in here, take advantage of me, rob me blind? Well let me tell you, boy, I was a General! In Bhutan! So if you think that just because I’m—” </p>
<p>“I didn’t know, sir!” Merlin interrupted again, trying frantically to remember what the hell England had been doing in Bhutan. He really needed to start paying better attention if he intended to catch Arthur up. “And I don’t want to take advantage. In fact, you wouldn’t need to pay me much at all. But I’m looking for a place to stay and I was thinking—”</p>
<p>“Thinking you could kill me in my sleep and rob be blind! I’ll have you know that regardless of my affiliations, I’d have no trouble taking apart a scrawny vagrant like yourself!” In his rage, the man had opened the door wider in order to better express his anger. When he leveled his eyes at Merlin, he noticed the left side of the man’s face was gnarled with angry pink scar tissue and that his left arm hung limply at his side. Merlin did his best to keep his features schooled, but the man realised instantly what he had seen and his eyes narrowed in fury. </p>
<p>The force of the door slamming shut made Merlin stagger back a couple of steps. He waited a moment to see if the man would return to shout at him some more and when he didn’t, Merlin sank to the brick stairs with a sigh. Something in the man’s stubbornness and pomposity had reminded Merlin instantly of Arthur, which both made his heart ache and fanned some small, long forgotten fire of mule headedness in his own heart. </p>
<p>“Right,” he said, standing up and putting his hands on his hips. He slowly turned around, taking in the property. A delicately lettered wooden sign over the doorway read “Rosehill,” which gave Merlin an idea. He walked along the far side of the house until he could peek around to the back garden. A grin broke across his face. He rolled up his sleeves and started whistling again as he set to work. </p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Merlin had managed to work for nearly an hour and was just beginning to wonder whether he ought to try knocking on the door again when he caught sight of the man bursting through the French doors at the back of the house and storming down the set of stone steps. Merlin grinned to himself where he was crouched down pulling weeds.</p>
<p>“You there!” the man shouted as he approached. “What do you think you’re doing?”</p>
<p>Merlin continued to throw weeds onto the pile that he had amassed along the edge of the lawn. “I told you sir,” he said cheerfully, “I’m in need of work and clearly you’re in need of a groundskeeper.” </p>
<p>The man sputtered and gestured around the grounds. </p>
<p>“I don’t need a groundskeeper. Everything is perfectly taken care of!” </p>
<p>From up close, Merlin noticed that the man was actually younger than Merlin had originally assumed, probably only in his late twenties. Merlin stood up and dusted his hands on his trousers. </p>
<p>“Well, I noticed that these bushes are all well taken care of,” he said, resting his hands on his hips and tilting his head toward the neat plants on the far side of the lawn. “But the rest of the grounds—”</p>
<p>“<em>Bushes</em>,” the man said, sounding completely scandalised. “Those are prize-winning roses, most of them planted by my late mother, so you’d do best to —” </p>
<p>“Of course they’re roses,” Merlin cut back in, enjoying the verbal sparring entirely too much. “<em>I</em> know that. But the rest of the grounds need tending to — especially on the far side of this meadow, by that little cottage — and some of the larger branches on the roses need to be pruned.” Merlin carefully did not look at the man’s arm dangling by his side. “And I’m here and need a place to stay and a job. You don’t have to pay me any wages for the first month, just give me room and board and I’ll prove I can be useful to you.” </p>
<p>Merlin leveled his gaze directly at the General, who glared back at him. The two men stared at each other in the late morning sun, and Merlin felt a spark of triumph the moment he saw that the man would give in. </p>
<p>The General sighed heavily. </p>
<p>“What’s your name, boy?” he asked, still sounding thoroughly annoyed.</p>
<p>“Merlin Emrys, sir.” </p>
<p>“Well, Emrys, you’ve got a week to prove your worth. Go fetch your things and come back at supper time. I’ll give you a room and we’ll see how you do. You have your own tools?”</p>
<p>“Yes, sir,” Merlin answered quickly, hoping he could find some in the village by the evening. </p>
<p>The General looked at him as if he knew he was lying, but didn’t say anything. “Fine. Bring them and I’ll see you back here then.”</p>
<p>“Thank you, sir,” Merlin said happily, reaching out the less dirty of his hands for a shake and then giving an awkward little bow when he realised that he was reaching for the injured arm. He pushed out the tiniest bit with his magic and brushed the injury as he had learnt to do in his time caretaking. He smiled to himself as the General stomped off with a glare, leaving Merlin's hand extended awkwardly in front of him. Once he had retreated in the direction of the house, Merlin took his leave. </p>
<p>He glanced over his shoulder when he got close to the tree-lined drive and saw the General still watching him from the side lawn of the house. He lifted a hand to wave, but as soon as he realised Merlin had spotted him, the General stalked off quickly. Merlin laughed to himself and looked at the house fondly, the spark of Arthur thrumming in his chest. He finally knew exactly where he’d be standing when he was reunited with his King. Pleasure flushed through his body, turning his cheeks pink as he loped toward the main road. </p>
<p>Merlin stopped at the bank to take out some funds, then settled payment for his room and gathered his meagre belongings into a satchel. After a quick lunch at the tavern, he realised that he still hadn’t seen about getting the tools he’d need — nor did he even know what those tools may be. He wandered along the high street until he saw a shop that looked promising. </p>
<p>The interior of the store was a bit dingy and when Merlin opened the door it sent motes of dust swirling through in the afternoon sunlight. But the walls were covered with rakes, hoes, and shovels, and there were shelves lined with colourful seed packets, gloves, and rolls of twine. A ginger-haired young woman browsed the seed packets thoughtfully and a stout older man was being waited on at the counter. Merlin approached to wait his turn but the dark-haired shopkeeper turned toward him right away with a smile. </p>
<p>“Good afternoon, sir —can I help you?” </p>
<p>Merlin stepped up to the counter with a smile for the other customer then faced the shopkeeper. </p>
<p>“Well, I’ve started a new position as a groundskeeper and I may have exaggerated a bit on how many of my own tools I can bring to the job. Which would be none.” </p>
<p>The old man guffawed and slapped him on the back. </p>
<p>“Henry here will be able to sort you out then! Looks like it’s your lucky day, Henry.” </p>
<p>The shopkeeper grinned and leaned against the counter. </p>
<p>“Where will you be working then? I should be able to tell you what you’ll need for the job; I know everyone in these parts.” </p>
<p>Merlin opened his mouth and realised that in their exchange he hadn’t actually gotten his employer’s name. </p>
<p>“Umm, the General? Who lives in the house over on the banks of the lake across town. Rosehill,” Merlin added, remembering the name painted proudly over the entrance.</p>
<p>An uncomfortable silence fell over the shop and a moment later Merlin heard rapid footsteps behind him and the sound of the door opening and shutting again firmly. Merlin turned his head in time to see the ginger-haired girl practically running down the walkway, her hat pulled low over her face. When Merlin turned his questioning gaze back to the two men they were exchanging a significant look. He cleared his throat sheepishly. </p>
<p>“I apologise,” he said with a self-effacing smile. “I’m new in town and I’m afraid I may have offended the lady in some way.” </p>
<p>Henry shook his head. </p>
<p>“She’ll be okay — you weren’t to know. It’s just … you’re working for Christopher Marleigh? Only I didn’t think he much liked to have folks around nowadays,” he seemed to be choosing his words carefully. The older man’s mouth was drawn into a tight line and he was staring at the floor, shoulders tense. </p>
<p>Merlin forced a laugh.</p>
<p>“Oh, I’m quite sure he doesn’t. But he was willing to give me a chance so …” </p>
<p>Merlin’s words hung in the air. The tension in the store continued until finally the older man said gruffly, “I’ll stop by for that order tomorrow,” and stormed out of the shop as quickly as the girl had. </p>
<p>After he had left, Henry turned back to Merlin with a wry smile. </p>
<p>“Bad luck, mate,” he said lightly. “Probably about the two worst people who could have witnessed this conversation, if I’m being honest with you.” </p>
<p>Merlin rubbed a hand against the back of his neck, embarrassed at his yet unknown faux pas. </p>
<p>“Maybe you could fill me in?” he asked with a raised brow. “Before I make any more enemies.” </p>
<p>It turned out that Henry was only too happy to fill him in. He explained the story to Merlin as he moved around the shop, speaking steadily and barely breaking eye contact as he reached up on shelves and under cabinets for supplies. An hour later, Merlin was back on the street with a wheelbarrow full of supplies, quite a bit poorer but much more understanding of General Christopher Marleigh's status in the town of Avalon. </p>
<p>More specifically, he now knew that the woman who had fled the store was Emily Harris, the daughter of the man at the counter — and more importantly Marleigh’s intended before he left for the war. Despite waiting faithfully for years, he had turned her away harshly when he returned injured and had refused to see her since. As Henry had packed up his supplies into a new wheelbarrow, he had explained that the girl was now heartbroken and sickly, and her father was furious at the General for ruining her. There was no one in town who didn’t like Emily Harris, and therefore there was no one in town who didn’t hold a bit of a grudge against General Marleigh for breaking her heart. And he held the grudge right back.</p>
<p>As Merlin trudged up the hill with his supplies, a moment of uncertainty crept in. He let his thoughts wander to his own solitude and what would become of him if he were to be rejected after all these years of faithful waiting. Just the thought brought such a sharp physical pain that he doubled over a bit, halfway up the hill. He took three deep breaths, then pushed down and out with his magic until a tendril slipped down to dip into the lake. Immediately he was filled with a deep sense of contentment and was able to straighten up again right away. He smiled and closed his eyes. When he drew the magic back into himself, he felt it swirl around the place where he could feel Arthur’s pulse. With a soft sigh, he let his magic sink back into the background where it usually waited, and pushed the wheelbarrow the rest of the way up the hill. </p>
<p>When he reached the house he was surprised to see the General standing stiffly in the front garden, watching. </p>
<p>“Hullo,” Merlin greeted him affably, dumping his pile of supplies onto the edge of the veranda, then wiped his dusty hands on his trousers and reached out to shake the General’s hand, this time remembering to offer his right. </p>
<p>As expected, the man looked at this hand with unbridled disgust and said simply, “You’re late,” then turned and walked into the house. </p>
<p>Merlin grinned to himself and followed. He shouldn’t enjoy antagonising the man this much, but it had been so long since someone had cared about his existence enough to either love or hate him that the feeling was novel. Once in the house, the General pointedly showed him the washroom and Merlin obediently stepped inside to clean himself up a bit. When he was done, he followed his nose to the formal dining room. </p>
<p>As he walked through the unfamiliar house, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of other rooms, Merlin couldn’t help a frisson of excitement from rising in his chest. The house seemed so strange and foreboding now, he could hardly believe that not only would it be his someday, but that perhaps for a time it would be <em>their</em> home. His and Arthur’s together. He couldn’t keep the grin from his face at the thought as he stepped into the dining room. </p>
<p>“What are you smiling for? Are you simple?” the General snapped and Merlin couldn’t help but laugh. </p>
<p>“No, sir. Just admiring your home — it’s beautiful. Maybe you’ll show me around a bit after supper?”</p>
<p>“You will be shown to your room,” he said curtly, then seated himself at the head of the table and reached for a tureen. </p>
<p>Merlin bit back his smile and took a spot to the General’s right, reaching for a thick slice of still-warm bread. The General must have at least one or two other staff, he pondered. Surely he didn’t make the meal himself. Sure enough, a middle-aged woman bustled through the door with a pitcher of water and started when she saw Merlin at the table. </p>
<p>“Who’s this then?” she said, wheeling around to face the General. “You didn’t tell me there’d be … company.” </p>
<p>The look she gave Merlin clearly implied that she didn’t think he was fit for company. </p>
<p>“He’s the new gardener,” the General said, with a small twist of his lips. Then, as the woman opened her mouth to protest, “Yes, Lucy, I’m aware. He’ll eat with the rest of the staff in the kitchen going forward, but I invited him to dine with me tonight. It’s fine.”</p>
<p>Lucy, who looked very much as though it was <em>not</em> fine, simply curtsied to the General then filled his water glass. She moved to fill Merlin’s glass as well, but stood with her back partially turned to the General, presumably so he wouldn’t see her glare. Merlin, well acquainted with that particular look from his time at Camelot, knew that he could expect a lecture about <em>knowing his place</em> when Lucy got him alone. He wasn’t particularly nervous — he’d had years to perfect the art of charming people, and he had never been bad at it to begin with — but hoped that she wasn’t the type to hold a grudge. </p>
<p>The General gestured at him to begin eating and so he did, taking time to savour how much better Lucy’s cooking was than the watered down stew he’d been served in town. His stomach rumbled appreciatively as he tore off a piece of bread and reached for the butter. The General looked at him disapprovingly from the corner of his eyes but didn’t comment on his table manners. </p>
<p>“Thank you again for the position, sir,” Merlin said at length, when his hunger had been somewhat abated. “I’m much obliged.” </p>
<p>“Yes, well,” he sniffed. “It is probationary, so we’ll see how you do.”</p>
<p>“Have you got much staff?” Merlin continued, pretending he hadn’t heard. He was enjoying himself more than he probably should; it had been so long since he’d had someone he felt comfortable rankling recreationally. It was almost as if … but no. He was feeling good enough that his mind was able to skate away from the thought with practiced ease. </p>
<p>“Do I have—” the General sputtered, now letting his irritation show. “If you must know — not that it’s any of your business — it’s a small staff. Just Lucy to take care of the kitchen and cleaning and her husband Charles who takes care of the horses and house maintenance. And now you, I suppose.” </p>
<p>“Yup,” Merlin said cheerily, resting his elbows on the table and giving the General a grin. “I’ll get that lawn back in presentable shape before you know it, sir.” </p>
<p>The General glared at him darkly. </p>
<p>“It’s plenty presentable as it is,” he said, voice haughty as he scooped himself another helping of stew. “You’re just a charity case, is all.”</p>
<p>“Yes, sir,” Merlin said with as much cheek as he dared. He didn’t actually want to be kicked out, but he was having far too much fun. “I’ll remember that. Very generous of you, sir, to take in such a simpleton. Especially one with ears like mine, if you don’t mind my saying. Terribly unfortunate.” </p>
<p>“Emrys,” the General said, and Merlin thought he saw the corner of his lip twitching as he rested his butter knife primly on the edge of the plate.</p>
<p>“Sir?”</p>
<p>“Shut up.”</p>
<p>“Yes, sir.” </p>
<p>Merlin couldn’t help smiling into his bowl, but in the next breath the familiarity of the exchange made tears prickle at the corner of his eyes. It felt so good but hurt too much. The General must have noticed and thought Merlin sensitive, because he grew stiff and uncomfortable again, which just made Merlin want to laugh again. He was well used to men with a lot of bluster that were tender-hearted at their depths, and it seemed as if he’d hardly have to brush the surface with the General. </p>
<p>After dinner and pudding, the General bid him goodnight and sent him with Lucy to be shown to his room. Merlin carried his satchel with its few belongings up the flights of stairs to his attic room. It was so stuffy that even Lucy frowned and pushed open a window to get some fresh air circulating. Merlin moved to the window as she turned to the room to fuss over other little details. </p>
<p>Of course, his window overlooked the lake and the rolling countryside spreading out all around it. For a moment, Merlin stared into the shifting surface of the lake with a lump in his throat. He turned away and forced a smile. </p>
<p>“So, the General — is he difficult to work for?” </p>
<p>Apparently Lucy was immune to even his most charming smile because she only snapped the coverlet on the narrow bed and moved to the door. </p>
<p>“Breakfast’s at seven sharp; supper’s at six. You can come in and get your luncheon during the noon hour.” </p>
<p>Merlin couldn’t hold the smile on his face, so he let it slip and nodded meekly as she turned to leave. </p>
<p>“I don’t gossip about my employers,” she said suddenly, turning back to face him. “But he’s a good man and a fair one. Do an honest day’s work and he’ll treat you right.” </p>
<p>“Yes, ma’am. Thank you,” Merlin said, sketching an awkward little bow, to which she harrumphed and retreated down the stairs. </p>
<p>Merlin watched her go, then sighed and set about unpacking and undressing. When he was down to his nightclothes, he drifted back to the window and kneeled to rest his arms on the sill and gaze out once again. </p>
<p>Twilight had set in and spring birds were making their final good night calls. The air was chilly but fresh, and carried with it the scents of all the blooming trees in the valley, as well as the sweet odour of the water from the lake. Something in Merlin felt like he ought to be heartened, to finally be here and closer than he’d ever been to being reunited with his King. But in some miserable twisted way, it also felt like the farthest away from Arthur he’d ever been as well. </p>
<p>Despite the fact that the physical distance had closed, the scourge of time stretched out before him like a never ending road to an unknown destination. He closed his eyes and breathed in the night air, picturing the vision he’d had — the edges of the village crowding close, the dazzling light in the distance, the towering willow tree. Then he opened his eyes and leaned out of the window with a sigh. In the moonlight he could just make out the bare shore of the lake, the sweeping darkness, the tiny village far off in the distance. </p>
<p>He pulled the window shut but for a crack and laid down in the surprisingly comfortable down bed. He allowed himself to imagine Arthur’s face, to picture it in front of him, to imagine his arms wrapped around his frame once again. It was many hours before he was able to fall asleep. </p>
<p>In the morning tear tracks still streaked his face.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ever since he had come to understand that he had the lifespan of a magic thing and not a mortal one, Merlin had also understood that time moved differently for him. Or rather, he experienced time differently than the humans around him. Because of this, when he looked back, it was hard to remember exactly how long it had taken for him to fall in love with the General. </p><p>He knew there must have been several seasons of growing friendship, in which the General made it a daily habit to stop by to criticise Merlin’s work, with Merlin giving him nothing but cheek back. To be fair, Merlin’s work had rarely been above criticism in those early days, but he enjoyed being out of doors, spending time with the fussy rose bushes, and learning the rest of the grounds, which were far more extensive than he had originally supposed. There was certainly enough to keep him busy, and the General always seemed cheered by shouting at Merlin a bit, which continued to secretly please Merlin. </p><p>Lucy had been slower to warm to him than he hoped, much to his frustration. But late in that first summer, Merlin spent two long days and nights helping her husband, Charlie, with a particularly difficult bout of foaling, After that she took to him as if she had never disliked him. It made Merlin laugh now to think that she had reproached him for gossiping about employers — once Merlin had earned her trust, she was only too happy to divulge all manner of observations about the General and his life. </p><p>Lucy had grown up in the village and remembered Christopher Marleigh as a young lad full of mischief and always ready to stand up for what he believed was right. The more stories Merlin heard about the General as a lad, the more tender his heart grew toward him. One morning, after being regaled with a particularly endearing story about how young Marleigh had attempted to fight the oldest boys in school when they teased a boy with a lame leg, Merlin couldn’t help but grin fondly at the General when he stopped by to inspect his work. The General, who had come to shout at Merlin for over fertilising his Salet roses, seemed completely at a loss as to how to deal with the affection. After several minutes of attempted reprimand, he stalked away, seeming wrong-footed and muttering about the simple gardener. </p><p>Of course, all these stories begged the question. </p><p>“So what happened to him then?” Merlin asked late one night. He, Lucy and Charlie were crowded around the scarred table at the far end of the kitchen, enjoying their customary after dinner cup of tea. Merlin sipped his tea again before continuing, “I mean, of course there was the war and his injury. But surely those weren’t enough to change a man’s character that completely?” </p><p>Lucy looked a bit sad and Charlie, a man of few words unless the words were about horses, was silent. At length Lucy sighed.</p><p>“It’s his injuries, aye. And what happened in the war. He doesn’t see himself as fit for society, either physically or morally. I think he’s punishing himself, keeping holed up here as he does.” </p><p>Merlin nodded. This much he had been able to deduce himself, especially after Lucy had told him in hushed whispers what had happened to the General’s battalion during the ongoing clashes with India. But still — he couldn’t help but think it a terrible thing to throw away an entire life because of perceived failure. That was a lesson he had learned early on in his long life.</p><p>“And Miss Emily is still pining for him,” Lucy sighed again, hefting herself from the table and bringing their saucers and cups to the sink. “It’s not just <em>his</em> life he’s wasting, that’s what no one can get him to understand. But if her name is so much as mentioned he flies into a rage; you’ve seen that, Merlin.” </p><p>He nodded absently, wheels turning in his mind. </p><p>“If his face and arm were healed …” Merlin said slowly. “Do you think he might be willing to re-enter society and make a go at it? Having a normal life?” </p><p>Lucy’s face screwed up in thought. </p><p>“Hard to say,” she said, wiping down the teapot and setting it back in its place for the morning. “I think it would certainly help. But he’s been to loads of doctors, in London, Edinburgh — even in Rome. No one has been able to help.” </p><p>“I used to apprentice with a physician,” Merlin said, ignoring Lucy’s eyebrows shooting into her cap. “He specialised in unusual cures … I wonder if he’d let me try something?” </p><p>Merlin was aware that Lucy and Charlie were having a silent conversation over his head, but kept his eyes trained on the table. </p><p>“Oh, I think he’d let you,” Lucy said at length, not quite smirking.</p><p>Later, after Lucy and Charlie had bid him goodnight and crossed the garden to their little cottage at the far end, Merlin laid in his bed mulling over the conversation. Of course he knew that the General was interested in him — and had been for quite a while, the pigtail pulling was pretty obvious — but it surprised him to learn that the other staff were aware as well. After a restless hour of trying to decide whether he should bother moving forward with his plan, he left his bed briefly to retrieve the brooch bearing Ygraine’s sigil from his trunk. He worried its heft in one hand then the other as he thought. </p><p>Although he’d taken part in society steadily for many lifetimes now, this was the first time in quite some time that he’d been really engaged, and the first clear opportunity he had to improve someone’s life significantly. The thought shamed him a bit. He had helped here and there, of course, but a certain detachment from the lives of mortals came from living so many lifetimes. Merlin vowed silently that from now on, he would use his gift not just to get himself through but also to improve the lot of others, if he could. After all, he wanted to be a man that Arthur would be proud of when he returned.</p><p>He pressed the sigil over his heart, let its weight rest there like a lover’s hand on his chest. He closed his eyes and breathed out into the dark room, mind fixed on what felt inevitable between him and the General. </p><p>“Oh, Arthur,” he whispered into the silence. </p><p>* </p><p>Two days later, when he knew that Lucy and Charlie would be in town doing the week’s shopping, he firmed his resolve and ventured to the General’s chambers. The General was surprised and instantly wary when he saw Merlin. </p><p>Merlin was nervous, which felt odd as he’d never had any fear of the General before. He explained haltingly his apprenticeship to the physician and his special knowledge of herbal healing then proffered the little pot of salve. </p><p>In the silence that followed his speech, Merlin dared to look up at the General’s face. It was flushed red — whether with fury or embarrassment or something else wasn’t immediately apparent to Merlin. But when Merlin stuttered an apology and began to retreat, the General caught him by the arm and yanked him into the room.</p><p>Alone in the General’s private sitting room, Merlin was sure that the man could feel his hands shake as his fingertips brushed across one broad shoulder. The salve, which Merlin had brewed hastily in the kitchen and scented with lavender to obfuscate, smoothed onto the General’s warm skin. For his part, the General had recovered quickly from his bout of emotion and was staring stoically out the window into the back garden, eyes fixed on the roses that Merlin so lovingly attended. </p><p>Although Merlin had grown into his magic over the years and had much more control than previously, it had been a long time since he had tried to work with such precision. Especially when he needed to cast spells wordlessly. </p><p>“The salve may warm a bit after application,” Merlin said, trying to keep his voice as clinical as possible. “That’ll be the compound working.” </p><p> The General didn’t reply. His eyes followed Merlin when he moved in front of him and held up a hand, silently asking for permission to touch the scarred side of his face. </p><p>“Can’t I apply it myself?” he asked stiffly, leaning back a bit. </p><p>“You could,” Merlin asked, letting his lashes sweep down, then looking up at the General from beneath them. “But won’t you let me?”</p><p>They looked at each other in silence for a long moment, an understanding passing between them. </p><p>“Yes,” the General said at last, his voice barely audible. </p><p>Merlin couldn’t resist a smirk. </p><p>“Shut your eyes then.”</p><p>“Do you say that to all the lads?” the General asked, shutting his eyes obediently.</p><p>Merlin let out a surprised bark of laughter. “Just the difficult ones.”</p><p>“I should sack you for insubordination,” the General replied, the tiniest hint of a smile playing at the corner of his lips. </p><p>“But you won’t,” Merlin replied, deftly working the salve across the tangle of scar tissue. </p><p>“No,” the General agreed. </p><p>No more words passed between them as Merlin applied the salve. As he applied the last bit to his neck, he took a step to the side to make sure he was out of the General’s line of sight if he should happen to open his eyes. But Merlin didn’t think he would until directed. </p><p>Merlin took a deep breath and reached with his magic, quickly finding the source of the ache in the man’s shoulder and carefully twisting the flesh and bone and sinew slightly back into alignment. Another breath and he let his magic swirl around the damaged tissue, coaxing the layer of damaged tissue to heal itself. The edges of the scar pulled in ever so slightly and then Merlin was stepping back.</p><p>“You can open them now,” he said softly, at the same time the General inhaled sharply. “Alright?” </p><p>“Yes, I just — can feel it working,” he said, looking at Merlin curiously for a moment. Then, back to his gruff self, “Thank you, Emrys, that will be all.” </p><p>“Yes, sir,” Merlin said, capping the salve and backing out of the room. “Next week, same time?”</p><p>The General hummed noncommittally and Merlin saw himself out. He returned the little pot of scented salve to his nightstand, then spent the afternoon fertilising the rose beds and trying not to think about the feel of the General’s skin under his fingertips. </p><p>*</p><p>The ritual continued weekly. During the week the General would be as prickly as always, snapping at Merlin about the height of the grass or the quality of his pruning, and when Merlin went to his rooms he seemed overly formal and distant, never again joking as he had the first time. Merlin healed the wounds as slowly as he could manage and the General never said anything about his slowly clearing face or mentioned the fact that his shoulder had a better range of motion than it had in years. Lucy and Charlie were too wise to mention it. </p><p>After several months of nothing more than his own heart pounding in his chest as he applied the ointment, Merlin began to wonder if he had misread the situation all along. He only hoped that healing the General would be enough to win his good favour and perhaps a chance to purchase the house at some point in the future. He <em>must</em> stay here if he were to see his King again. </p><p>One day in early August found Merlin in a mounting temper. He had dreamt of Arthur the night before, which was surprisingly rare and usually put him out of sorts. The air had been heavy and humid with nary a breath of air to stir the oppressive heat, yet the General had insisted that he clear out a patch of scratchy thistles from the far end of the property. Merlin had returned to the house mid-afternoon drenched in sweat and itchy from his head to his toes. The General, who seemed to be equally cantankerous, had sniffed derisively when Merlin had entered the chambers to apply the salve and had shrugged noncommittally when Merlin asked if he could feel improvements in the shoulder. The fact that he couldn’t even have made the gesture several months ago made Merlin bite the inside of his cheek to keep from being insubordinate. </p><p>He hadn’t gotten enough to eat at dinner and Lucy had snapped at him that the grocery bill had doubled since he and his stomach had arrived at Rosehill. He’d thundered up the stairs instead of joining them for tea after supper. </p><p>Of course the air was oppressive in the little third story room, so Merlin stripped down to his drawers and flung open the window. Kneeling, he let his top half lean out the window as far as he dared, hoping to catch a breath of air. </p><p>To his pleasure, there was a wind beginning to pick up. Clouds the colour of a bruise were gathering over the lake, promising rain and cooler temperatures. Merlin felt some of the frustration of the day slough off of him as he watched the surface of the lake wrinkle under the gathering winds. He couldn’t help but think of his vision and wonder how many such storms stood between him and Arthur. </p><p><em>One fewer now, at least,</em> he smiled to himself.</p><p>He sat back a bit but watched the storm rolling in with an unfocused gaze, lost in memories of things that had been and things that would be, until the loud creaking of his door startled him back into reality. He scrambled to his feet, reaching for his nightshirt, but then froze when he saw that it wasn’t Lucy coming to apologise, but the General. The man hovered in the doorway, filling up most of the frame, and Merlin instinctively straightened up, bare-chested though he was. </p><p>“Sir,” he said in a tone he hoped didn’t convey his surprise at finding him in his room late at night. “Something you need?”</p><p>The General didn’t answer. Merlin wished that he had thought to light a candle, because in the gathering nightfall he could make out nothing of the other man’s expression. The General crossed to the window, not even sparing a glance for Merlin, who pulled his nightshirt over his head all the same. The man stood at the window and gazed across the lake. </p><p>“This was my grandmother’s house, you know,” he said, voice as conversational as if he talked about personal matters with Merlin all the time. “We used to summer here when I was a child. Whenever there was a thunderstorm, my mother would bring me up to this room to watch them over the lake.” </p><p>Merlin watched the outline of the General’s face flicker in and out of view with the distant lightning. </p><p>“I was frightened of lightning back then, but my mother never was. Even in the fiercest storm, I felt safe up here with her, tucked away where she promised nothing could harm us.” </p><p>Merlin remained silent, but moved a small step closer. </p><p>“My mother died when I was seven years old, and my father sent me to live here permanently. They said I looked so much like my mother that he couldn’t bear to see my face. I was angry and spoilt and a bully. I was so mad at the world all the time. I loved my grandmother, but she couldn’t help me. No one could until …” he trailed off, staring out into the crashing storm.</p><p>“Emily,” Merlin whispered at length. </p><p>The General turned his head sharply, looking at Merlin for the first time. Merlin held his breath for a moment as he was contemplated, then the General turned his gaze back to the lake. </p><p>“Yes,” he said softly. </p><p>The silence stretched out for long minutes, and Merlin wondered if the man would say anything more. As the rain began to hammer down and splash inside the room, Merlin slipped past the General to push the window down a bit and then stood beside him, letting his gaze fix on the lake as well. </p><p>He missed Arthur like an open wound in that moment, the fierceness of it taking his breath away. </p><p>Finally the General went on. </p><p>“She fixed me when I thought I couldn’t be repaired. She didn’t have to. I didn’t <em>want</em> her to, but she was patient and kind and taught me to care about others. She was my best friend for a decade. Over the years, she made me a better man than I could have dreamt of being.” </p><p>Tears pricked in Merlin’s eyes and he nodded. “But then …”</p><p>“The war. It broke me again. This time, on the outside too.” </p><p>Merlin made to protest, but the General cut him off before he could speak. </p><p>“But now you. You’ve —” his voice broke and Merlin waited, shaking. Outside, thunder shook the ground and tree branches lashed against the side of the house. The General took a breath and went on, more steadily. </p><p>“I’ve watched you. Closely — since you came. I’ve an especial talent for reading people and … I’m not the first one you’ve helped.”</p><p>“No,” Merlin replied, trying desperately not to think back. </p><p>“And I’m not the only one still in love with another. One that can’t be had.” </p><p>Merlin glanced at the General but couldn’t hold the intense stare. </p><p>“No,” he whispered, eyes fixed on the storm, the lake, his destiny. “But we’re different,” he continued harshly, “She’s right here waiting for you if you weren’t such a stubborn mule. But my … he —”</p><p>The General’s intake of breath was small but Merlin heard it. Praying he hadn’t read things wrong, his eyes darted nervously to the General’s face, where he at last saw the unmasked want that he had suspected lay beneath the surface. </p><p>They looked at each other, nothing changed but facing each other in honesty for the first time since their acquaintance. Merlin felt flushed despite the cool air pouring in through the window and his skin prickled with anticipation of a thunder’s crash. The silence stretched out around them, the lightning still illuminating their faces in intervals. The General broke their eye contact first and his eyes swooped to Merlin’s lips.</p><p>Merlin closed his eyes and breathed a name so soft that it was almost a sigh. </p><p>“Christopher …”</p><p>Before he could say anything else the General had leaned in and captured his lips, far gentler than Merlin had expected. The kiss was sweet and aching and what neither of them wanted, but Merlin yielded beneath him as he had always known he would. The General’s hands rested on his shoulders at first, then crept up to caress his cheeks, trace thumbs over his cheekbones. </p><p>Merlin tried to think of something to say, but came up with nothing, so he let the General push him back onto the narrow bed. His movements had become slightly more frantic and when he pressed closer Merlin could feel the hardness against his thigh. Merlin helped lift his nightshirt back over his head, undoing the General’s buttons and stripping his undershirt until their bare and feverish torsos were pressed together. </p><p>Merlin couldn’t help but shudder with pleasure under the General’s touch. He’d been with plenty of men, but it had been so long since someone had touched him with such intent — such <em>desire</em> — and the feeling was intoxicating. He broke off and tossed his head to one side, which the General took as an invitation to move on to his neck. Merlin squeezed his eyes shut and whimpered, but slung an arm over the General’s good shoulder and leveraged his body to line up under the General’s. The General let out a hiss when their erections brushed together, then bit down into the flesh of Merlin's shoulder when he started undoing the buttons at his breeches. </p><p>Merlin’s mind was reeling but he pushed away every thought that screamed at him that this was only going to end badly, because the General knew him and wanted him and was <em>here</em>. It had been so long since Merlin had been adored and Christopher was touching him so reverently, bending down to press a kiss to his cheekbone and gathering them together in his hand. So Merlin laid back and let the pleasure be wrung from him. He let the General make love to him and as the storm retreated across the moors, he panted his orgasm into the shoulder that his magic had all but healed. </p><p>Christopher wasn’t far behind him, and Merlin was surprised at the ferocity with which he kissed Merlin when he was done. In the aftermath, they looked at each other in the dim light for a long time. Merlin had no idea what the General saw on his face, only that he was too wrung out to care. When he caressed Merlin’s cheek and leaned in for another kiss, Merlin couldn’t help turning his head away, suddenly exhausted and confused. </p><p>“You should go,” he said, not unkindly, but the General reacted as if he’d been slapped. He stared at Merlin for a moment then tore himself from the bed.</p><p>“Christopher —” Merlin began softly.</p><p>“Don’t,” the General snapped. So Merlin didn’t. </p><p>Instead he watched silently from where he was still sprawled on his elbows on the bed, hair rumpled and cock out, as the General fastened his trousers and snatched his clothes off the floor. He didn’t look at Merlin again as he left the room, slamming the door behind him. Merlin sighed and flopped onto his back, annoyed at himself that he had cocked everything up at the end. But he knew that both their hearts belonged to another, and just because the General had wanted to pretend for the night didn’t mean that he had to go along with all of it. </p><p>At length he crossed the room to the small washbasin and cleaned himself off best he could, then rummaged in his trunk until he found Ygraine’s sigil again and crawled back into bed. He laid on his side facing the window and tucked the sigil under his cheek. The metal felt cool against his flushed skin and Merlin pressed his face harder into the pillow, imagining the raised patterns burning into his flesh, marking him for all the world as Arthur’s. </p><p>*</p><p>The next day Lucy warned Merlin that the General was in a foul mood. He headed out into the garden, assuming that the General would avoid him for the day to lick his wounds. Which was why he was surprised to find him waiting amongst the rose bushes. </p><p>“You haven’t been tending the <em>cardinal de richelieus</em> properly,” the General barked, gesturing to the lush purplish roses that Merlin privately thought were the prettiest. “Look at them! You haven’t been fertilising them enough.”</p><p>Merlin had been prepared for some awkwardness or maybe even an uncomfortable conversation, but suddenly he just felt bone-tired. He cared for the General, yes, but he wasn’t interested in going along with whatever power play this was. He’d spent more than enough time subject to Arthur’s vacillating moods when he hadn’t been able to decide how he should behave toward someone who was both his servant and his most trusted friend, and he was loath to be in that position again. He straightened up and leaned against his rake, gazing out over the lake and wishing he could sink to its bottom and sleep with Arthur until their time came. The General railed on about pruning and shade at his side.</p><p>“Sorry, sir,” Merlin said at last, leaving the General nonplussed. Merlin had rarely said “sir” without affable sarcasm dripping from his voice and rarely followed the General’s orders. “I’ll see to it that they’re properly fertilised this morning. I do apologise, sir.”</p><p>The General’s face got so red Merlin was sure for a moment that he was about to have a fit, but he just turned around and stormed toward the house. Merlin’s eyes followed him until he disappeared with the slam of the terrace door. In the garden, birds sang and a soft breeze ruffled the colourful bushes around him, stirring the heady scent of the roses. Merlin spoke a sharp spell and the cardinal de richelieus brightened up until they were almost unbearably sweet. He turned his back on the lake and wondered what in the world he was meant to do now.</p><p>
  
</p><p>*</p><p>Thankfully, it was several days before Merlin was meant to be administering his treatment to the General, so he had some time to think about how he should approach it. It had occurred to him to just stop the treatments, make the General beg Merlin’s forgiveness if he wanted to be cured. But Merlin had never been cruel — and any circumstances that had made him so were long in the past — so he decided he would go as he normally did and hope that they could both politely ignore what had passed between them. </p><p>When the day came, Merlin delayed for as long as he could before he finally made his way down to the General’s rooms. He tapped on the door softly, half expecting to be ignored. He was surprised when the General opened the door, appearing exhausted, and just gave him a long look before opening the door wider to invite him in. </p><p>Once Merlin was inside, he turned around just in time to see the General bolt the door. He watched the man cross the room again, feeling his magic quivering just below his skin and uncertain what would happen next. The late afternoon sun streamed through the window as he stopped in front of Merlin and gently removed the pot of salve from his trembling hands. After he set it on a tall side table, he clasped his hands behind him and gave a long exhale. </p><p>“I owe you an apology,” he said at length. “I’m afraid I acted a scoundrel and … well. You were right to send me away. I’m sorry I’ve behaved poorly.” </p><p>Merlin kept his eyes trained on the thick floral carpet and was silent. </p><p>“Merlin,” he murmured, taking a step closer. Merlin’s head shot up to hear the General use his given name for the first time. He took a step back. </p><p>“Don’t,” he said. “I just — it’s fine but,” his eyes drifted to the carpet again and he took a shaky breath. </p><p>“I understand,” the General said, earning another sharp-eyed look from Merlin. </p><p>“No you don’t.”</p><p>The General laughed a bitter laugh. </p><p>“You think you’re the first one who couldn’t bring themselves to be with an invalid? Someone so broken and hideous.” </p><p>Merlin’s magic flared without his permission for the first time in such a long time that it startled him and he had to remain silent a moment as he struggled to bring it to heel. In his moment of hesitation, the General had turned away with a sigh, as if Merlin had as good as confirmed his suspicions. </p><p>“You’re an idiot,” Merlin finally ground out. “And I’m insulted you would think so little of me.” </p><p>“It would be understandable, as I said. You aren’t the only one who—”</p><p>“Emily’s still in love with you, you great bloody tosser,” Merlin’s voice was shaky and he could feel his magic rippling dangerously again. “If you weren’t so <em>stupid</em> you could—”</p><p>“I <em>couldn’t</em>,” he snapped, turning his back on Merlin. “Not looking like this. I … I tried. But the look on her face when she saw my injuries, the — pity,” he spat. “I just knew I couldn’t do that to her. It’s better off this way.” </p><p>There was another silence. Merlin was glad that the General’s back was to him, because he felt his eyes suddenly fill with tears of frustration. He was about to say something when the General spoke again. </p><p>“It would have been better if I had died, I think,” he said sadly, and something snapped in Merlin.</p><p>He barely had the time to raise his hand and utter the words of the healing spell before his magic flooded the surface and broke free. Whereas before he had gently nudged the cells back into alignment, this time his magic grabbed and <em>yanked</em>, eliciting a started yelp from the General. As the golden light faded from Merlin’s eyes, tears spilled over. He caught his breath with a sob, wrapping his arms around himself. </p><p>“There,” his voice broke on the word and he swiped at his eyes with his sleeve. “Happy now?”</p><p>The General didn’t speak, but brought a hand to his cheek. Merlin could see from across the room that the hand was trembling. He took a slow step toward the mirror hanging on the wall and stared into it for long seconds.</p><p>The outburst had burned all the anger out of Merlin and in its place a tendril of fear curled in his stomach. The General had bowed his shoulders in front of the mirror and suddenly Merlin didn’t want to wait to hear what he’d say in response to Merlin’s using magic in front of him. He turned and fled. </p><p>*</p><p>Merlin hadn’t spent much time in the village since he had taken the job, stopping by only to pick up whatever supplies he needed for the groundskeeping and deposit his wages into his bank account. He was grateful he had been paid that morning, the coins Lucy had carefully counted into his hand still rattling around in his pocket. He left on foot, taking the long way through the back of the property to be sure he wouldn’t pass Lucy and Charlie on the road. </p><p>When he got to the pub, he ordered a brandy and set about getting completely foxed. </p><p>Merlin had never drunk much and particularly not as the generations wore on — and for good reason, as even now he felt himself growing more maudlin by the hour. He worried that the General would try to have him persecuted for his magic and he would be forced to flee the village — and hence the lake — altogether. He felt dejected that the General had bedded him when he was clearly only a substitute for his true love, Emily. Then he felt like a hypocrite as he remembered that he had done the same bloody thing. </p><p>He missed Arthur. </p><p>He always did in a vague, aching way that he tried not to examine too closely, but tonight in this noisy pub his mind was flooded with memories. It was a blessing and a curse that his mind was able to maintain the memories of his scant few years with Arthur so vividly while letting go of entire lifetimes. But now, memories of the night he had managed to cajole Arthur to the pub, the night he now thought of as their last happy moments together, came to his mind unbidden and with an almost unbearable clarity. He remembered Arthur’s eyes narrowed with certainty that Merlin was cheating but unable to tell how. Merlin had felt giddy at flirting with the reveal of his magic in public, right under Arthur’s nose. He had intended to tell him, even then was thinking about how to get the timing right, how he might soften the blow. </p><p>A smile tugged at the corner of Merlin’s lip — then he looked down into his pint and remembered how the confession of his magic had actually gone. A wave of sorrow twisted in his gut. Instead, he turned his thoughts to the General and his reaction — or lack thereof. Maybe he wasn't aware that it was magic? After all, his back had been turned to Merlin. But then, he must know, for what else could it be? </p><p>Over the years, the terror of being exposed as a magic user had all but faded for Merlin. The decline of magic from the gravest threat into a thing of myth had luckily resulted in a loss of the understanding of magic’s workings as well. Merlin was no longer afraid of being shackled with iron, but had stayed in the habit of hiding his magic as much as possible. He wasn’t sure what would happen if the General accused him now, but he was sure that he didn’t want to find out.</p><p>Merlin sighed, finishing his drink and looking around for a barmaid. All this was over now anyway. He had fouled things up irredeemably and now he’d have to wait at least a generation before he could attempt to settle in the house. It had been stupid of him to think that he could move in right away when it was clear it would be a long time yet before Arthur returned to him, but no matter. He’d start over again, as he had done so many times already. </p><p>Merlin was pulled from his thoughts when a sudden silence fell over the pub, punctuated by several gasps and whispers of surprise. Merlin, who had his back to the door, looked over his shoulder casually and froze when he saw a familiar silhouette at the doorway. </p><p>The entire pub stared as the General made his way to Merlin, his head held high. Merlin couldn’t help a gentle smile from tugging at the corner of his lips when he saw his handsome face, now completely free of scarring. Likewise his lame arm was held firmly by his side as he spotted Merlin and strode toward him. Merlin turned around quickly, but a moment later the General’s hand clapped down firmly on his shoulder. </p><p>Merlin met his eyes and they looked at each other for a long moment before the General spoke softly.</p><p>“Come on now, Emrys.” </p><p>Merlin nodded, leaving his pint and following the General to the door, leaving the silent pub behind them as they stepped onto the street.</p><p>The cool air of the late summer night rushed past Merlin’s face but did nothing to sober him up. He weaved on his feet for a bit, and when the General reached to steady him Merlin pushed him away and redoubled his efforts to walk straight. They made their way in silence, but as they turned the corner outside the village and started the ascent up the drive to Rosehill, the General gave a sigh. </p><p>“Did you go to see her then?” Merlin asked brusquely.</p><p>“No,” the General said at once. And then, having the grace to sound sheepish, “Not yet.” </p><p>“But you will,” there was no question in Merlin’s voice. </p><p>“Yes.” </p><p>Merlin nodded jerkily. “Good.” </p><p>“Merlin,” the General murmured, and reached for Merlin’s hand. He was loath to give it, but ultimately surrendered to the comforting gesture. “I do care for you … if you want—”</p><p>“No,” Merlin snapped, lest the General get the wrong idea. Then, “No,” he said softer, spreading his fingers and entwining them with the General’s. “It’s not that I don’t want to, but. I didn’t do it for that. I did it so that you could be with her because I can’t —” </p><p>Merlin’s throat stopped up and he couldn’t keep his eyes from trailing to the still water of the lake of Avalon. </p><p>“Because you can’t be with him,” the General finished, finally putting to words what they both knew was standing between them. </p><p>“Yes,” Merlin said softly, shifting his gaze down. He focused on putting one foot in front of the other as they advanced on the house. </p><p>“But you will? Be with him? Are you waiting?” the General asked in a more tentative voice than Merlin had ever heard him use. He waited a moment before answering, gently taking his hand back. He stopped beneath one of the young oak trees that lined the lane leading to the house. The stars shone overhead and Merlin couldn’t help but smile at them. </p><p>“I will. And I am. I don’t know when he’ll come, but … I know he will. And I think he’ll come here because … I had a dream and … the lake. A willow tree, one that hasn’t grown yet. And I do think he’ll come back. Because …” </p><p><em>Because he has to</em>, Merlin thought frantically. <em>Because if he doesn’t, what am I doing here, living all these lives when I could have just died alongside him. He has to, because I feel like I’m living half a life a dozen times and waiting to be whole again and even though it’s been centuries I still feel as if I can barely breathe without him, and yet I feel him with every breath. And if I can’t stay here, what if I can’t find him? What if he never —</em></p><p>“You needn’t worry about that. You’ll always have a place at Rosehill,” the General said firmly, and Merlin realised with a start that he’d been speaking aloud the whole time, apparently still drunker than he thought. He felt the adrenaline flood into his body and tried to turn and flee, but the General caught him up by the arms. </p><p>“And you needn’t worry about the rest of it either, alright?” His searching eyes met Merlin’s terrified ones and they stared at each other for a long moment in the moonlight.</p><p>“Merlin,” the General sighed and leaned in to press his lips to Merlin’s. Merlin’s cheeks burned with shame, but he opened his mouth to the General almost immediately. </p><p>As much as he was able, he tried to push the events of the last week — the events of the last several centuries — out of his head. He just wanted to be here, right now, in this disparate moment of his life. He wanted nothing but the sweet smell of apple blossoms on the gentle breeze and the stars and the moonlight and this man’s warm mouth covering his, leaving his body trembling. </p><p>At length the General pulled back. He looked at Merlin and Merlin let himself be looked at. </p><p>“You must think me mad,” Merlin said with a laugh. </p><p>“I don’t,” the General said kindly. “Love makes us all mad.” </p><p>Merlin felt his face flush and turned away. </p><p>“Aren’t you wise all of a sudden.” </p><p>The General bumped their shoulders and set back on the road to the house. If he had any thoughts about Merlin’s magic or any of the secrets that had come out in his drink, he didn’t make them known. </p><p>When they arrived at the front door, he bid Merlin goodnight and told him to take the next day off. Merlin protested, but when the General insisted Merlin retreated to his little room, drew the curtains, and let himself collapse onto the bed. </p><p>He woke early to birdsong, but was able to fall back to sleep after a period of staring aimlessly at the ceiling. The General must have informed Lucy, as she didn’t appear to drag him from his slumber. When he woke again at noon, stomach rumbling, he dressed and ventured downstairs to the kitchen. He had expected Lucy to be cross or sullen, but instead she beamed at him so widely that he was momentarily disoriented. </p><p>“Have you heard?” she asked him as he sat down at the scarred staff table with his bread and butter. Clearly he hadn’t, as she had just seen him come down the stairs, but he humoured her anyway. </p><p>“I haven’t, but it must be excellent news to have you smiling like that on laundry day.” </p><p>Instead of the cuff to the ears for impertinence he’d expected, Lucy threw back her head and laughed. </p><p>“It’s the General! Oh, I don’t know what’s gotten into him, but he’s at last come to his senses after all these years. He marched right down to the village this morning and asked Miss Harris to marry him, he did. Oh, I know she’ll say yes, I just know she will — way she’s been pinin’ for him all these years. We’ll have to have the wedding right here at Rosehill — and it’s in the rose garden he’ll want it, so you’ve better get all those blooms wearing their Sunday best, Mr. Emrys — and of course we’ll need to clean the house top to bottom. I wonder how many people there’ll be? Certainly most of the village — the Harrises have relations to spare, and that's sure and certain. It’ll be over a hundred if it’s ten.” </p><p>Luckily, Lucy was content to babble on in this manner to herself and didn’t notice Merlin’s carefully neutral face. Of course this was what he wanted — the entire reason he had started healing the General in the first place — but now that everything was set in motion, he didn’t see how he’d have the heart to stay at Rosehill. He was sulking into his porridge when he caught his name and tuned back into Lucy’s ramblings. </p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Oh, don’t play coy with me, Mr. Emrys. I know it’s your magic salve’s been healing him of those afflictions. It really is like a miracle, isn’t it?” </p><p>“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Merlin prevaricated. </p><p>"Well I do. It's amazing how it seemed to be going so slow at first, but then when he came down the stairs this morning, he looked like his old self! It's funny, but isn't that the way healing goes sometimes? Little by little, then all at once. Oh, what a debt he owes to you, Mr. Emrys. I'm sure you'll have a position here at Rosehill for as long as you want it."</p><p>By the time he finished his breakfast, it was hardly a lie for Merlin to claim a headache and retreat to his attic bedroom. There he indulged in his desire to undress and curl back into his bed. He had pulled the curtains closed to block out most of the daylight and stared unhappily at the wall. </p><p>He must have dozed eventually, because he awoke with a start to heavy footfalls on the narrow staircase. He didn't answer the soft knock and was unsurprised when the General pushed open the door anyway. The door creaked open, stirring the air in the small room, and Merlin didn't move or speak through the long pause that followed. </p><p>Eventually, he heard the General's soft footfalls and felt the bed sag under his weight. After a moment, the General's warm hand rested on Merlin's flank and something in him cracked open.</p><p>"Merlin?" The General said softly, and Merlin wanted to strike out at the uncertainty in his voice. With an effort he held his tongue and managed to push himself into a sitting position, his knees pulled tight to his chest. </p><p>"I hear congratulations are in order," he said with a forced smile. "Lucy says you're to marry soon?"</p><p>The General searched his face. "Yes, I suppose I am."</p><p>Their eyes met for a moment and Merlin gave up trying to control his expression. He had no clue what the General saw on his face — Merlin wasn't even able to sort through the amalgamation of emotions he was feeling — but whatever he saw, Merlin knew it was as raw and honest as he could make it. </p><p>The General, keeping his eyes locked with Merlin, reached out and tilted Merlin’s chin up. He was careful to telegraph his intent and Merlin let himself be kissed softly once, twice. The General sighed and rested his hand on Merlin’s cheek.</p><p>“Is there anything I can do to convince you to stay?” he asked, and Merlin felt a flood of appreciation for the man. He didn’t have the energy to explain why he couldn’t stay, so he was grateful that he didn’t have to. </p><p>“I’m afraid not,” Merlin said after a moment. </p><p>The General nodded. </p><p>“I didn’t think so. But please know that you’re always welcome.” </p><p>“I know.” Merlin gently removed the General’s hand from his cheek, pressing a kiss to the palm, then rested their clasped hands on the bed between them. </p><p>The General looked troubled. “But what you said the other night — your. Will he — do you need to be here? Will he know where to find you?”</p><p>Merlin smiled, even as pain twisted in his chest. </p><p>“I’ve no doubt we’ll find each other when the time comes, so you needn’t worry about that.” </p><p>With the words, Merlin felt his magic well up in him, and he immediately recognised the platitude to be true. He closed his eyes in relief, feeling that steady pulse of Arthur within and the latent magic of the lake shimmering at the periphery of his magical reach. He and Arthur would find each other — they must. For there was no other option for either of them. He was so comforted by this realisation that when he opened his eyes, he was able to offer the General a genuine smile. </p><p>“Where will you go in the meantime?” the General asked, squeezing Merlin’s hand on the coverlet. </p><p>“Not sure yet.”</p><p>“Have you considered medical school?” the General asked with a studied neutrality that told Merlin that <em>he </em>had certainly considered it.</p><p>Merlin was taken aback, but he recalled his vow to become more engaged with the world around him instead of simply passing through it, to do more good with his gifts. He also considered how welcome it would be to have somewhere to focus all his energy after this whole affair. Perhaps it wasn’t a bad idea.</p><p>“I hadn’t,” he admitted. “But it is a possibility, I suppose.”</p><p>“You certainly have the natural talent,” the General agreed eagerly. “And you’ll always have my recommendation.”</p><p>“I’d have to travel to London for a time,” Merlin said thoughtfully. </p><p>“Let me pay your expenses,” the General blurted.</p><p>“Oh, no, no, that won’t be necessary. I’ve plenty of—”</p><p>“Please,” the General begged. “It’s the least I could do. You’ve given me my entire life back.” </p><p>Something in the statement stung a bit, but Merlin considered the offer. He had plenty of money in the bank, it was true. He had been an early investor in the London Stock Exchange half a century ago and was now able to comfortably ignore his accounts, always finding more than enough for what he needed. But the costs of medical school — not to mention room and board in London — would be significant, and he knew the General was wealthy. </p><p>Merlin, with his head still propped up on his chin, studied the General’s face. His face was as dear to Merlin as it had ever been, scars or no. His silky brown hair was tied back in its customary tail and his soft brown eyes were earnest and pleading. Merlin bit down a wistful smile. He was going to miss the man. </p><p>“Alright,” he said at length, causing the General to break into a grin. </p><p>“Good man,” he nodded. “You make the arrangements with the school and I’ll see to the rest. I can give you a letter of credit to bring along.” </p><p>“Thank you. Christopher,” Merlin said, and meant it. He tried to shake off any feelings that the General’s offer was out of guilt or manipulation and just be grateful that the man had come into his life and awoken something in him that had been lying dormant. </p><p>The General just nodded and stood up from the bed, crossing the room but pausing in the doorway to look back at Merlin. </p><p>“Will you stay?” he asked in a voice so low that Merlin could barely hear him. “Just for a few more days?” </p><p>Merlin pressed his eyes shut and took a shaky breath. He knew he should say no, should leave as soon as possible, but he felt his head nodding yes before he could stop it. The next thing he knew, the General’s warm weight was pushing him back onto the bed, his hands cupping Merlin’s face and kissing him desperately. Merlin gasped into the kiss, then gave himself over to pleasure. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Although there were certain requirements for attending medical school in London, Merlin found out quickly that nearly all of them could be bypassed when one had a good enough letter of credit. Any obstacles that remained could generally be handled with a little charm and the occasional nudge of magic. </p><p>Even though his years spent earning a medical degree passed as quickly as might be expected, the pain of being separated from the Lake of Avalon was sharper than Merlin could have imagined. As the train had carried him south and away from the place where his King slept, Merlin felt the pulsing of Arthur in his chest grow thinner and thready, the way he knew a heartbeat did when a patient neared death. Even though he was sure that the impression of Arthur that he carried in his chest was nothing more than some kind of connection between his magic and their destiny, it scared him enough that he nearly left the train and returned back after an hour’s travel.</p><p>Only the faintest far away echo of a dragon’s voice hissing at him to stay kept him from darting onto the platform. He could feel his eyes widen and his pulse quicken. Kilgharrah? He hadn’t seen hide nor scale of the old dragon in centuries, but hearing him now and feeling the touch of the dragon’s mind to his cleared his thoughts and reminded him of his purpose in a way that nothing had for years. The past, which often seemed as hard to grasp as a dream after waking, became clear in his mind for a moment, and he could see Arthur’s smug smile, his creased brow, his last breath. </p><p>Merlin grit his teeth and let the memories fade into the background where he kept them tucked away, but he stayed on the train, determined now to make Arthur proud. Even if it meant feeling further away from him for a short time. </p><p>Much had changed since the last time Merlin had undertaken any kind of medical studies, but he found that the basics were similar enough that it made up for any gaps in his formal education. There was enough new information to learn, however, that it kept him steadily busy without being over-taxing. He was staying at a crowded boarding house along with several other students in the medical school and forced himself to become somewhat acquainted with them, but mostly he kept to himself. </p><p>Without Arthur’s constant pull, he found himself able to immerse himself in medical school, and the years passed in a loop of lectures, practicums, apprenticeships, and exams. Merlin cycled between the university, the hospital, and studying whilst tucked up under the eaves of his little room in the boarding house, more often than not with the rain drumming steadily on the other side of the wall. The years blurred by. Christopher wrote him in an overly-formal way that Merlin preferred, and Lucy kept him up on all the house gossip whether he wanted it or not. Merlin thought some days that he may as well have stayed on at Rosehill for all that Lucy shared of her employer. Sometimes he couldn’t bring himself to read her letters, especially when the mistress of the house brought forth child after child as the years passed. </p><p>He didn’t dare return to Avalon before he was through with his schooling, as he wasn’t sure he’d be able to bring himself to leave again, so he stayed in London. During term breaks and the holidays he took on extra shifts at the hospital, assisting the nurses in basic care and trying to help as many people as he could. Some evenings when the city was sleeping and quiet enough that he felt like he could breathe, he’d wander through Regent’s Park in the lonely hours, staring across the water of the boating lake and missing Avalon. </p><p>In no time, Merlin became an especial favourite of the beleaguered nurses in the hospital, as his patients had a knack of remaining alive. But Merlin didn’t use magic all the time. In fact, after his first week of shifts at the hospital, when he’d frantically used his magic to heal as many people as he was able, he’d found himself unable to get out of bed for two days. It had been humbling to learn that outside Avalon there were limits to his magic he’d never experienced before, and more than a bit terrifying to spend two days wondering whether he had damaged himself permanently. But his magic grew steadily stronger with rest, and on the third day he was able to get himself down for supper and answer enquiries about his health truthfully. </p><p>After that began a long month of trial and error in which Merlin learned how much he was able to use his magic to help and how much he must rely on his own skill and wit as a physician in training to keep his patients alive. He did occasionally overreach himself, but quickly developed an understanding of the limits he could work within. The revelation only spurred him to spend more time working at his studies, until he rose to the top of his class. </p><p>He’d accidentally made a fair amount of friends in London despite keeping to himself as much as possible. He was always willing to help tutoring other students and was known for helping scholarship students to keep up with the boys who had come from expensive boarding schools. He cared for these friends as much as he was able to, and tried to join in on trips to the pub and other jocularity. One lad even guessed his proclivities and whispered to him of a nearby Molly House where he would be free to be himself, but Merlin felt that he had dallied enough with love and lust for one lifetime. </p><p>At last the day came where the final payment was made to the school, the last apprentice hours completed and the last friend cheerfully seen off. Merlin was at last free to return to Avalon and his King. </p><p>The train ride was longer than he remembered, but with each passing mile he felt his magic grow stronger and his mind grow more at peace. When he first sensed the stirrings of Arthur’s presence in his chest again, he didn’t know whether to cry or cheer, so he settled for hiding his grin in a closed fist and leaning against the glass, waiting for his first glimpse of the lake. </p><p>By the time he stepped off the platform in Avalon, he was in such high spirits that even the sight of Christopher with his two eldest sons in tow wasn’t enough to sway him. He shook hands all around, taking care to be especially formal with the boys, which made them giggle, and ignoring the way that Christopher’s palm pressed a little longer than necessary in his. </p><p>“It’s good to see you, General Marleigh,” Merlin said, eyes twinkling.</p><p>“And you as well,” the man replied warmly, clapping Merlin on the back. He started to speak again, but had to leave off to make a grab when one of the lads darted away to get a closer look at the tracks. Merlin just laughed and fetched his bags from the porter. </p><p>“You look grown up,” Christopher told him later, in the carriage. He blushed immediately and stammered, “Not that you weren’t grown when you worked at Rosehill.”</p><p>Merlin waved off his embarrassment. “And I’ll say you’ve gone quite soft, playing at father and no doubt being doted on by Emily.” </p><p>Christopher flushed again, which only made Merlin laugh. </p><p>“It’s not embarrassing to be well loved,” Merlin chided gently. “May we all be so lucky one day.” </p><p>“I haven’t forgotten the debt I owe,” Christopher said, meeting Merlin’s eye unexpectedly. Merlin had been teasing him, but as his eyes rested on the man, he could see that his words were in fact true. Christopher, while still trim, had clearly been fed up, his clothes fashionable and pressed in a hand other than Lucy’s hurried one, and his hair cut in a smart style that accented his strong jaw. And aside from all physical evidence, his eyes shone with contentment, even as he prised a piece of candy out of his little one’s hand with a soft reprimand. </p><p>“You don’t owe me anything,” Merlin said, catching the man’s eyes to be sure he saw that he meant it. “You’ve already repaid me far beyond what you needed to, and arranged this job for me as well. I promise you that being able to stay here in Avalon and help its people are all that I could ask for in this life. I’m a happy man today, and that’s down to the generosity of you and your family.”</p><p>Christopher smiled and reached up a hand to squeeze at Merlin’s shoulder for just a moment before clapping him on the back again. </p><p>“Well, you’ll like Dr. Price, that’s for sure and certain. Though he’ll keep you busy. In fact, Lady Marleigh is expecting any day now so I imagine he’ll have you help with the delivery.”</p><p>Merlin gave the man a playfully murderous glare and they burst into laughter as the carriage carried them along the main road to the far edge of the village. </p><p>Merlin found that he very much did like Dr. Price, who was a large, jolly old man, and was only too happy when the man showed him the small flat above his practice that was let to the under doctors. It was modest in size, though it felt like a palace when compared to his cramped room under the eaves at the boarding house. </p><p>After extracting a promise that Merlin would come to dinner the following night, Christopher took his leave and Merlin collapsed onto the soft bed with a happy sigh. He allowed himself only a moment of rest before he rose again and went about settling into the flat. It didn’t take long to put away his few belongings, but by the time he had finished his work the sun had set. In the darkness, it wasn’t difficult for him to slip to the lake without arousing suspicion. After a quick sweep of his magic to be sure that no one was about, he stripped from his clothing and plunged into the lake. </p><p>For a moment he felt nothing, then the chill of the water closed over him and the sensation of magical power rushed in to fill his every sense with elation. When he broke the surface he wanted to shout both with delight and as a counter to the cold that sucked the air from his lungs, but he daren’t. It wouldn’t do for anyone to catch the new doctor half-delirious and fully nude paddling around in the lake after dark, after all. </p><p>Merlin took a breath and dove beneath the surface of the water again, this time kicking deep and pushing the water with his arms. He could feel the caress of the water mixing with his magic as his spirit touched Arthur’s once again. He daren’t push out with his magic, remembering the warning he had received the first time, but it was enough to let the restorative magic of the place flow into him. </p><p>When he broke the surface again he had grown more accustomed to the water’s temperature and bobbed up, tipping so that he came to float on his back. The pulsing of the water against his eardrums blocked out all the night’s other sounds, and he let the water cradle him as he looked up to the sky. The moon was the barest curl of a crescent but the starlight shone bright over the lake. From where he lay, Rosehill and the rest of the village were blurred out and all that filled his vision were thousands upon thousands of tiny twinkling lights. Merlin smiled at them, grateful that in this world that had changed a hundred times over since he had last been by his King’s side, that at least the stars were constant companions. </p><p>Then he laughed out loud at the overly sentimental nonsense that his brain was spouting this evening and began to paddle his way back to shore. The exercise felt good after sitting in the train all day, and by the time he reached the shore again, his muscles ached pleasantly. </p><p>Later that night, he stretched out in his bed, hair still curling damply against his ears, and settled himself under the duvet with a contented sigh. It was good to be home. He was ready to get to work. </p><p>
  
</p><p>*</p><p>And get to work he did, for it was no more than two days later, when Lady Marleigh did, as promised, go into early labour and was delivered of a tiny, red-faced girl, much to the delight of Christopher, who declared that there were far too many boys at Rosehill and he welcomed the womanly presence. Lady Marleigh — who told Merlin that they were quite well acquainted enough for him to call her Emily — shared a private eye roll with Merlin, and after that they got on quite well.</p><p>Merlin quickly settled into a daily rhythm. After years of intense studies and crowded city hospitals, caring for the residents of Avalon seemed almost leisurely, although challenging in its own way. Merlin quickly learned that developing the patience to listen to old Mrs. White relate the story of how she had first injured her hip twenty years prior in a horseback riding accident was the last skill he had to master as a doctor. Nevertheless, Dr. Price was pleased with his progress and talked more and more seriously about retirement with each passing month. </p><p>Being as close as he was to the lake, Merlin’s magic had much more power, but he found he had to use it far less than he had in the larger hospital, so mainly he got along without it with the rare exception. As promised, Christopher recommended Merlin to everyone who commented in astoundment at his healed injuries, which Merlin both loved and hated him for. But the extra challenge of the occasional soldier travelling — sometimes from long distances — for Dr. Emrys’ cures gave him a chance to use his magic for healing and broke up the monotony of less interesting afflictions. </p><p>Time passed quickly. Dr. Price retired and moved to the coast for the fairer weather, leaving Merlin in charge of the practice. Although he could have afforded a house nearly as grand as Rosehill, Merlin remained living in the flat above the office where he would be readily available for when emergencies popped up. After several years, he took on a nurse to help him with the administrative tasks and to handle patients. He delivered Emily of three more baby girls, and Christopher and the doting older brothers were more thrilled with each than the last. </p><p>Merlin was constantly busy and found himself happy to be so useful. He indulged in the occasional swim in the lake when there was a particularly beautiful moonlit summer night, but for the most part he tried to put thoughts of Arthur from his mind as he  focused his energies on healing. </p><p>Eventually Emily did stop having babies and not long after it seemed, the babies were moving out and having babies of their own. Aside from the occasional dinner at Rosehill in the early days and of course, the labour and deliveries of his daughters, Christopher had kept his distance. But as the children got older and left home, he started to drop by some evenings to share a meal or a cup of tea. Merlin was relieved to find that the passion between them had faded, although the friendship had not. Occasionally Christopher would ask in a round about way whether there had been any signs of Arthur’s return, and Merlin would shake his head and change the subject. </p><p>Merlin had grown so used to people dying over his many lives that it became sort of a background hum that rarely broke into his consciousness, let alone disrupted him. So it was an unpleasant shock when Christopher appeared in his office one sunny late autumn morning relating symptoms reluctantly — symptoms that were all too familiar to Merlin as those of late stage consumption. When it fully registered that his friend was dying, something must have shown on his face, for Christopher gave a weak laugh. </p><p>“I must admit, it’s good to know you still care about me after all these years,” he said softly. “I did wonder.” </p><p>“Don’t,” Merlin told him sharply, but the man shrugged helplessly and reached for Merlin’s hand,</p><p>“I know already, you don’t have to say it,” he said, squeezing gently. Merlin’s gaze dropped to their clasped hands and tried to remember when their skin had become so thin, so wrinkled. “But I wanted you to know.”</p><p>The rest of the autumn passed in a blur of visits to Rosehill, and by December Merlin was spending as many nights sleeping in his old attic bedroom (although Emily had tried to persuade him into one of the nicer rooms on the ground floor) as he did in his flat above the office. It was hard to watch the once proud and spirited man grow smaller and paler in his bed as days went on, but Merlin focused on making him as comfortable as possible.</p><p>The holidays, which had once been a joyous time in a house full of children, were all but forgotten that year. On Christmas Day, Christopher’s eldest daughter Charlotte — who had once been Merlin’s first delivery, and was now expecting her third child — insisted that Emily come and have dinner with the family in her home. Emily only went because Merlin promised to keep watch over her husband.</p><p>The holidays had always been an uncomfortable time for Merlin, so he was all too happy to sit in the quiet enormity of the house and hold the hand of the man that he cared for so deeply. Christopher slept fitfully, waking when the gentle snow outside turned to sleet that tapped at the window panes. </p><p>“Em?” he asked, disoriented. </p><p>“No, it’s me,” Merlin whispered.</p><p>“Merlin,” Christopher sighed, closing his eyes once again. It had been so long since Merlin had heard his first name from the man. Something squeezed tight around his heart. </p><p>“Are you in pain? Shall I prepare some more laudanum for you?”</p><p>Christopher shook his head but squeezed Merlin’s hand tighter in his own.</p><p>“Are you still waiting, Merlin?” </p><p>“Hmm?” Merlin said, distracted by the pain medication he was preparing just in case. “For what? For you to decide you’re done being lazy and get up out of this bed?” It had been their running joke that, in Merlin’s opinion, had gotten less funny as the weeks wore on. But it still drew a chuckle from the man, even now. </p><p>“No,” he said when he’d caught his breath again. “For <em>whom</em>. For him.”</p><p>Merlin set the small glass bottle down gently, trying not to let Christopher see that his hands were shaking. He selfishly didn’t want to think about Arthur right now, didn’t want to get the two deaths tangled in his memories. But it had been so long since Christopher had asked, and he felt like he owed something to the man for keeping his silence on Merlin’s secrets for all these years. He folded his arms across his chest and fixed his gaze on the man in front of him. Warm brown eyes met his with surprising clarity, considering he had obviously been lying about being in pain. </p><p>“Yes,” Merlin said. “I’m still waiting for him.” </p><p>“You’re an old man now, are you sure he’ll still have you?” Christopher asked, with obvious concern buried under the teasing tone. </p><p>“He’d better,” Merlin muttered. This drew another guffaw from Christopher, which quickly dissolved into a coughing fit that left them both feeling more sober.</p><p>“I think maybe you’ve still a while to wait,” Christopher said slowly. “But I do believe you’re up for it.” </p><p>“Yes, well. I don’t have much of a choice, I shouldn’t think,” Merlin said, refusing to let his gaze drift in the direction of the lake. “But you could do me a favour and if in your travels you see a giant blond prat with more muscles than brains, you can tell him that I wouldn’t mind if he hurried things up.” </p><p>“Aye, that I will,” Christopher said with a sad smile that Merlin couldn’t bear. </p><p>“And now you’ll take this medicine,” he said, closing the subject firmly. “Maybe you can fool Emily, but I know when you’re in pain. I’ll stoke up the fire and you get some rest.” </p><p>Christopher took his medicine obediently, eyes fixed on Merlin all the while. Merlin turned away to build the fire as promised, and when he turned around again, Christopher had fallen asleep. </p><p>He didn’t wake again. </p><p>A week later, Emily held the man’s hand tightly as Merlin slung his stethoscope around his neck and shook his head. They sat in the dim room and listened to the sound of the revelers in the Village ringing in the new century echoed off the hillside. After a time, Merlin stood to take his leave, whispering that he’d give Emily some privacy. But her hand gripped his wrist hard and tugged him back into his chair.</p><p>They kept vigil through the night. At dawn, Merlin pulled on his coat and prepared himself to leave Rosehill for the last time. </p><p>After last night’s storm, the skies had cleared and the sky was blushing with rosy yellow light in the east. The sun peeking up over the horizon, reflected off the Lake of Avalon and into Merlin’s eyes. He shivered and adjusted his grip on the handle of his medical bag. By now, the young oaks that he remembered from his early days at Rosehill soared overhead and arced over the drive to block out the worst of the ice and snow. A carriage passed and he waved absently at Christopher's eldest son, who returned the gesture solemnly. Merlin thought for a moment that maybe he should stop him and deliver the news, but in the next moment he was sure that the man would rather hear it from his mother. </p><p>Back at home, Merlin left the “Closed” sign hanging on his office door and climbed the steps to his flat. The air was cold and dry, so he used his last bit of energy to stoke the fire and then collapsed into his bed, clothes and all. </p><p>Of course a dream came, as they always did when he least wanted them. </p><p>This one was shorter at least — as in his previous dream, a storm was howling around the edges of the lake and the old willow tree tossed and lurched. He was walking along the edge of the lake and approaching a figure who stood under the tree with his broad back turned to Merlin. As Merlin grew closer, the figure turned his head and glanced up the hill toward the house. Even in the dream Merlin felt his breath catch. He’d know that profile anywhere. </p><p>Arthur turned to glance over his shoulder and gave Merlin a small half smile. He reached out one arm indicating that he should stop, and even though Merlin wanted to run to him, he stilled his feet still several metres away. Arthur nodded at him approvingly then turned his eyes back up the hill. </p><p>“I’ll guide him for you, when he’s ready,” Arthur said, though his lips did not move. “It’s all I can do for you now.” His voice, warm and deep and as dear to Merlin as anything in the mortal world, echoed inside Merlin’s head — the only place it had lived for so many centuries now. </p><p>Merlin nodded at Arthur, even though he wasn’t looking. Merlin kept his eyes trained on him longingly for several silent moments, neither of them moving. Then he thought to follow Arthur’s gaze to where he knew the house must be. But when he turned his body, he was faced with only a blinding white light. He felt a rush of magic rippling under his skin, seeping out of its own volition, and then he woke. </p><p>His face was wet with tears and he was bone-tired despite the early winter twilight gathered behind the curtains. He curled his knees into his chest on the bed and shook with silent sobs for both men. </p><p>*</p><p>As Merlin knew all too well, the world stopped for no man. By the morning his tears had dried up and he was back to the office to deal with the consequences of the villager’s holiday overindulgences. He didn’t hear from any of the Marleighs, not that he expected to, but he found the date of the services from the town gossip nevertheless. </p><p>He hung back in his dark suit, not wanting to step in the bustling crowd that was largely composed of Marleigh children, their wives and children and in-laws. Lady Marleigh looked pinched, but was so dotingly attended to by her children that Merlin felt he needn't worry himself overmuch about her. Merlin was also surprised to see several uncomfortable looking men in military regalia milling about — Christopher had once mentioned to Merlin in passing that after his recovery he had started to reach out to some of his old military cronies and commanding officers to reconnect, but Merlin was pleased to see that so many had turned up to pay their final respects. </p><p>As had become his habit over the years, Merlin stood at the edge of the crowd watching and feeling detached from the waves of humanity. He was so lost in his own head that he jumped when he felt a gentle hand at his elbow and looked down to see Emily peering up at him timidly. </p><p>“Could I have a word with you in private?” she asked in a low voice. </p><p>Merlin nodded mutely and followed her into an adjacent sitting room. Emily shut the door against the murmuring swell of mourners and gestured for Merlin to sit. Merlin settled into one of the stiff-backed chairs and crossed his legs neatly. He and Emily had spent so much time together in recent months that he couldn’t imagine what more she could have to say to him. A nervous trickle ran down his spine — he hoped she wasn’t proposing a marriage of convenience to secure her position. But no, he thought, stealing a glance at where Emily was silently studying her hands folded in her lap, Emily was more sensible than that. </p><p>“I spoke with the solicitor this morning and we went over the will. He offered to tell you, but I wanted to do it myself. Dr. Emrys … Merlin. Christopher left Rosehill to your sole possession — no, listen,” she entreated with a raised hand when Merlin immediately raised his voice in protest. </p><p>Merlin, who had thought himself cried out enough for two more lifetimes, felt tears spring to his eyes as he shifted in the uncomfortable seat. </p><p>Emily gave him a watery smile. “He knew you wouldn’t like this. Oh yes, we talked about it at length while he was still alive,” she said, seeing the surprise on Merlin’s face. “This comes as no surprise to me, and he did warn me that I may have to be very firm with you.” </p><p>Merlin let out a choked sob of a laugh, his mind whirling. Rosehill … his? Of course, it was what he had intended, the entire reason that he had first come to knock on Christopher’s door in the first place, but now that he had achieved his goal, he felt nothing but an empty sort of longing — for whom he wasn’t sure. </p><p>As if she could read his thoughts, Emily moved closer and took his hand in hers. </p><p>“There are no secrets between spouses you know,” she said in a soft voice. “I know what the two of you were to each other..” She paused to regain her composure, chin quivering and eyes filled with tears. Merlin’s heart was pounding so loud he was sure that it could be heard in the next room. He was well aware that the affections that he and the General had shared were illegal, and that doctor or no, the word of a gentlelady and his suspicious lack of wife would be enough to drive him into hiding for a generation or more. </p><p>But Emily suddenly met his eyes with ferocity as her grip on his hand tightened. </p><p>“And I also know what you did for us. Merlin … what you did for Christopher … you were able to help him when no one else could, and I’m not just talking about healing his scars and his arm. The reason that there’s a roomful of people in there, the reason that I have all the help and support I need right now, the reason I have a family,” her voice broke over the words and now it was Merlin gripping her hand. “That’s all because of you. And I’m not going to make an ungrateful harpy of myself by contesting anything. You brought him back to me — Rosehill is the absolute minimum I should be giving you.” </p><p>Merlin could feel his hands shaking and knew that Emily could probably feel it too. He swallowed over the lump in his throat and spoke softly. </p><p>“But of course you’ll stay there with me until —”</p><p>Emily shook her head firmly. </p><p>“No. It’s already settled. I’ve already moved most of my things to a room in Charlotte’s home, where I’ll be closer to help her with the children.”</p><p>“But the staff—”</p><p>“A stipend was included in the will to keep them on for the next few years while you get settled. Then you can decide.” </p><p>There was nothing else for Merlin to do but nod, which made Emily smile. She squeezed his hand a final time and stood. </p><p>“I should get back out there but we’ll meet with the solicitor soon to discuss the details. Merlin?”</p><p>He looked up, still feeling a bit unsteady. </p><p>“Since I never actually said it — thank you.” </p><p>“You’re welcome,” Merlin said faintly, which seemed to satisfy her as she had slipped through the door in the next moment. </p><p>He sat in the empty room until long after the murmuring of the crowd on the other side of the door had quieted. When the sun was skimming low against the horizon, he rose and went to say his goodbyes. </p><p>A fortnight later, he stood in the doorway of the house and gazed down the rolling lawn to the lake of Avalon. Its shores were frozen in deference to the recent cold snap that had descended upon the area, but the sun hanging low in the sky did its best to make the water sparkle as it did in summer. The vista looked bitterly windswept but cheerful — Merlin felt he could relate. He knew both that beneath the icy waters his King slept and that each beat of his heart brought him closer to the time when they would at last be reunited. Even now, each second that passed brought him the closest he had ever been to the day when Arthur would return. </p><p>Making a mental note to plant a willow tree on the shore in the spring, Merlin turned his back on the lake for now and shut the door firmly behind him. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>That winter was a bit of a blur for Merlin, but not an unpleasant one. He felt as if he was rattling around Rosehill most of the time, but he was glad to be back in the house after so many years. He visited Emily, who regaled him with tales of her grandchildren’s antics but rarely brought up the past. </p><p>After a season, the idea occurred that he could move the doctor’s office to the ground floor of Rosehill. This served the purpose of both allowing Merlin to sleep above the practice once more, instead of across town from all his doctoring equipment, and also keeping the ghosts of the past at bay on long, silent evenings. He sold the building that had housed his office and the little flat and, deciding that he had enough money in the bank for the time being, decided to donate the proceeds. After reading in the papers about St. Bart’s — a boy’s boarding school in nearby Blastburn that had recently been dismissed of its tyrannical embezzler of a headmaster — he sent the whole of the proceeds to its new headmaster, one Mr. Brooke, for the purposes of improving the quality of education available to the boys. </p><p>His magic thrummed as he cared for the ailing of Avalon within Rosehill’s walls, content to be so near the lake once more. He still saw the occasional soldier for scarring or unusual injuries, although these visits had become few and far between as peace prevailed and the time of great wars had ended. A small, selfish part of Merlin wished things would liven up a bit as Britain was thriving and certainly not nearing a time of great need, but only a fool would be dissatisfied with peace. </p><p>More than a decade had passed and the willow tree Merlin had planted by the shores of the lake had sprouted and grown beautifully. The sight of it couldn’t help but fill Merlin with a swell of hope. The tree in his vision had been old and gnarled, but he had discovered from a bemused but helpful patient — who happened to be a botanist — that willow trees had a relatively short lifespan as trees went, living only fifty to seventy-five years. It made something tingle deep in his belly to think that he could be no more than a generation away from being with his King. </p><p>
  
</p><p>As Merlin’s body had aged, he constructed a bench at the lake’s edge under his willow tree, which was where he was sitting one humid August evening when he heard the news. </p><p>After years of handling the practice himself, Emily had finally convinced him to take on a round-faced junior doctor to assist with the more routine visits, and it was Michael that strode across the lawn to him now. Merlin knew at once that something was wrong, because Michael was wearing a serious expression instead of the infectious smile that he couldn’t seem to repress. The young man stopped in front of Merlin, pushing his glasses up on his nose in what Merlin knew was a nervous habit. </p><p>“Michael,” he said, standing up at once. “What is it?”</p><p>“England has declared war,” Michael blurted, standing up a little straighter. “I’ve enlisted.” </p><p>“Enlisted?” Merlin said, surprised. Of course he had heard of the skirmish between Austria and Serbia, read about rising tensions and Germany’s escalation with the French. But that was all on the continent, wasn’t it? What had it to do with Britain? </p><p>“Yes,” Michael said firmly. “What the Germans did in Belgium … all those women and children. It’s not right! And France has been a good ally, so there really isn’t a choice.” </p><p>France? Merlin silently vowed for the hundredth time that he really <em>would</em> start keeping up on world events. </p><p>“Are you sure you’re needed more there than here?” Merlin asked, leaning against his bench and folding his arms across his chest. A grey heron skimmed across the surface of the lake and the sound of summer insects buzzed insistently in his ears. </p><p>Michael nodded. </p><p>“They’ll need medics on the front lines. I suspect that all men will be asked to join up in the coming days — all men fit to serve, that is, sir,” Michael stammered. Merlin, whose body was approaching seventy years of age, waved his embarrassment away. “But the sooner I enlist the sooner I’ll be able to get where I’m needed. I’m sorry, Dr. Emrys, sir. But I won’t be able to stay on.”</p><p>“Very well then, Michael,” Merlin said with a nod, “You’ll do what you must.”</p><p>“Thank you, Dr. Emrys,” Michael said, breaking back into his customary smile and shaking his hand firmly. “I can’t imagine I’ll be away long — a season at the most. I’ll be home in time for the winter colds and Christmas indigestion.” </p><p>Merlin, who knew all too well the terrors and loss that wars brought, looked sadly at his young colleague but only nodded again and accompanied the man to their office to discuss the particulars of his departure. </p><p>The war did not last a month. It did not last twelve months. As Merlin had known, the war lingered on for years. The people of Avalon, who had all been born and raised in peace and prosperity, walked about looking perpetually worried and shocked. The arrival of the evening newspapers was a village-wide event in which people read the day's news and then spent the next several hours visiting to talk it over. </p><p>Merlin carried on much as normal, although it wasn’t long before his reputation as a healer of war wounds revived from the whispers and he found more and more soldiers travelling to Avalon for their chance at being healed. </p><p>Many of the injuries were terrible, and nothing that Merlin could heal with magic. The modern war weapons were designed to maim and disfigure, and that is what they did. Each day Merlin found himself faced with men whose arms had been blasted away from their bodies, men with gangrened stumps where legs used to be, men who had gone blind from the gasses that were employed in the trenches. </p><p>Merlin, who couldn’t help but see ghosts of the past in every one of these broken men, never turned anyone away and helped as best he could, entreating his household staff to assist in preparing meals and keeping the house clean of infection. Before many months had passed, Merlin had moved back into the attic bedroom and converted the rest of the house by necessity into a makeshift soldier's hospital. Thankfully, several women from the village’s chapter of the British Red Cross — including Emily and her youngest daughter, who had been training to be a nurse before the war broke out — were only too happy to do their duty by helping with the care of the recovering soldiers, leaving Merlin to attend to the serious cases. </p><p>He wrote to Michael regularly, and though his responses were cheerful, Merlin could tell that his youthful naivety had vanished in the face of the horrors he was surely facing every day. Despite that, Merlin couldn’t help but be proud of him. </p><p>One late autumn day, Merlin was teaching a boy who couldn’t have been more than 20 how to walk with the aid of a cane when a messenger dashed up the drive, waving a telegram which he handed to Merlin. He stood to the side for a moment, waiting to see if Merlin would need to send a reply and eying the wounded soldier. </p><p>“Boy, I can’t wait until I’m old enough to enlist!” the boy said enviously. “How many Germans were you able to kill then?’ </p><p>“Davey,” Merlin said sharply, and the boy had the grace to look abashed. The soldier just gazed from his stump of an ankle then across the lake to the line of horizon in the distance.</p><p>“Sorry,” the boy said, not sounding sorry at all, but Merlin had stopped listening. The telegram related that Medical Officer Stamford had been reassigned to the wounded rank and would be arriving on the train in two day’s time. Merlin frowned. He knew that Michael was an orphan, and supposed that he must have listed Merlin as next of kin. But usually these telegrams to family listed wounds and conditions. He put the telegram in his pocket and sent Davey scurrying back into town. </p><p>Two days later, Merlin saw Michael alight from the train and immediately understood. The previously bright and cheerful man wore a dazed expression and shuffled along, guided by a woman wearing a Red Cross armband. As Merlin got closer, he noticed the wound stripe pinned to Michael’s uniform and gave a sigh of relief. It had been an honourable discharge at least. </p><p>He listened as best he could to the woman, who was explaining the shell’s detonation and the presumed concussion and brain inflammation. Michael stood quietly, his eyes fixing unsteadily on the tracks. </p><p>“He’ll need lots of rest,” the woman was saying firmly. Merlin assured her that he was a doctor running a soldier’s hospital and after that she seemed content to turn Michael over. They didn’t speak much on the way back to Rosehill, Merlin not wanting to bring up any unpleasant memories and Michael content to stare out the carriage window. As they passed close to the lake, Merlin attempted to brush gently with his magic but pulled back immediately. He hadn’t pushed hard enough for a clear picture, but the hurt and fear radiating off the man were nothing that Merlin had experienced before. </p><p>Once Merlin had gotten Michael fed and settled into the most comfortable room available, he immediately retired to his library to page through the most recent of his journals to an article written by one Charles Myers describing the symptoms of an affliction called shell shock. An hour later, a grim-faced Merlin penned a letter to the man, asking if he could meet with him in London to learn more about the affliction, its causes and treatment. </p><p>Throughout that winter, Rosehill underwent a slow transformation as word spread to the village and beyond that Dr. Emrys was treating patients with shell shock. Merlin felt that treating was perhaps too strong a word for what he was trying to do with his patients at Rosehill. He did stay in communication with Dr. Myers and they frequently exchanged observations about the most effective approach, and shared success stories and failures. Days were scheduled tightly and the men took both food and exercise together. Merlin met with each of them regularly one on one to assess the progress of their illness, and encouraged them to talk amongst themselves about the war and anything else that they fancied. </p><p>Among the success stories, thankfully, was Michael. After several months in the familiar setting, and with lots of rest and close care by Merlin, the doctor started doing better, and by the spring was able to return to many of his junior doctor duties. He was, however, a changed man ever after and Merlin privately mourned the loss. </p><p>Along with the successes were always failures as well — Merlin found himself particularly affected by one young blond boy, who had seemed to be recovering well right up until Merlin found his body washed ashore in the lake that winter, pockets still half-full of stones. There were also families that were ashamed of their sons and came to take them away, spewing vile things about Merlin’s treatments and their effects on manhood. But Merlin persisted stubbornly, even as his body aged and he longed to restore his youth. He knew he was doing good and he was determined to continue for as long as he could. </p><p>At long last, that war that Michael had predicted would be over in several months came to an end. A victory for Britain and the allies, but what Merlin had already known was reiterated as soldiers continued to seek him out for his specialised treatments — there were no true victories in war. </p><p>The seasons passed on, Merlin’s body becoming achier and slower as they did. Finally, nearly two years after the war had ended, the last of his wounded soldiers had moved onto whatever was next for them. In the post-war prosperity, the village had grown and there were many new faces that he didn’t recognise as families moved out of areas that had seen attacks and settled into new lives. </p><p>Merlin’s days were busy and full. He kept in correspondence with several doctors and wrote papers on his observances in the field of psychological and physiological effects of war trauma. He also corresponded with many of his former patients, which filled up his evenings. But as much as he enjoyed the reputation and connections that he had established for himself in this lifetime, as the year wore on he could feel his body weakening and knew he had to make a decision soon. The last time he had dallied too long and the Spanish Influenza broke out and his makeshift hospital filled again, leaving him no time to make the transition. He knew he had to act before something else came along, as it always did. </p><p>At last the pandemic was over and spring had arrived to the waters of Lake Avalon, which glistened in the sunlight once again. Merlin began to spread the news that he would soon be retiring to the continent and that a young nephew, recently graduated from his alma mater, would soon be taking his place at the practice. </p><p>Michael accepted the news without much comment and agreed to make introductions for the lad and help get him settled at the office. Emily — who by now was quite an old woman, but remained a frequent visitor to Rosehill — was suspicious.</p><p>“I’ve never heard you speak of a nephew before,” she said as she sipped tea with him the sunny parlour. “Or any relations for that matter.” </p><p>“An estranged half-sister,” Merlin lied with ease. “I’ve only recently reconnected with the boy through my work for the soldiers. He’s very keen to continue the legacy.” </p><p>“Well, pray that the great wars are over so we needn’t continue it so urgently,” Emily said, and Merlin hummed in agreement. “I’m sure he won’t be half as good as you are though.” </p><p>“I think you’ll enjoy him,” Merlin said lightly, putting his cup into the saucer. “He does favour me quite a bit. Was named after me as well.”</p><p>“More’s the pity,” Emily muttered, then laughed when Merlin made a rude gesture. </p><p>On the day his nephew was to arrive, Merlin used a generous push of magic to make the train late, then spent the day fretting loudly over whether he should continue with his own careful plans to leave that afternoon or not. Once Michael and Emily had convinced him that he shouldn’t miss his own train, he set off to the station and then at dark doubled back to the lake. </p><p>The plunge into the water was as cold as it ever was, but Merlin revelled in the feel of his body growing young again. He swam the length of the lake to celebrate, encased in the swirling of his magic and with the pulse of Arthur’s spirit beating a tattoo against his ribs. He hurried back to the station with enough time for a cheerful introduction to Michael, complete with exclamations about the train’s delay and much bemoaning at missing his uncle’s departure. </p><p>The exuberance of his renewed closeness to Arthur lingered with Merlin for several days this time instead of fading away quickly. His spirits were high enough that he was able to make the transition from old Dr. Emrys to young Dr. LeFay as smoothly as could be hoped for. Emily still looked at him suspiciously sometimes when he accidentally let an inside joke slip and Michael wondered at how quickly he learned his way around the office, but neither of them commented on it further. Despite the risk of staying in his beloved Rosehill for another lifetime, Merlin’s secret stayed safe and life went on. </p><p>*</p><p>And what a life it was. Merlin didn’t know whether it was because he had finally started to pay attention to the news, or whether new ideas did make things worse, as they said, but there certainly seemed to be no end to the tragedies that rained down upon Britain. Merlin couldn’t help but think, with each new catastrophe — surely Arthur must come back now? Surely it must be his time? </p><p>But Arthur slept and Merlin grit his teeth and went on with the messy business of living. </p><p>When the stock market in the states fell, taking most of the LSE tumbling after it, Merlin thanked Christopher many times over for bequeathing Rosehill to him. Merlin was almost grateful that Emily had passed away peacefully several years before, as he was sure that she would have worked herself to death trying to help all that needed help during that time. As it was, Merlin provided free doctor services nearly around the clock, rarely ate or slept, and used what meagre savings he had to keep on a staff and buy provisions to feed the hungry children that showed up on his doorstep. </p><p>The economic struggles persisted, punctuated by the occasional mining accidents or ship disasters. With news now travelling faster than ever before, Merlin felt he knew far more than he wanted to, or could process. Of course when things finally seemed to balance again, as they always seemed to, there came the familiar rising tensions on the continent and by the autumn, war had once again broken out. </p><p>This time Merlin didn’t have the excuse of old age, but he was still reluctant to leave the security of Rosehill, which had become as familiar and dear to him as any place he had lived since Camelot. The day he enlisted, he woke at dawn and went to sit at the edge of the lake as the sun came up. On a whim he had rummaged around his bureau until he unearthed Ygraine’s sigil and slipped it in his pocket. Now, sitting with his bare feet stretched just far enough to be lapped at by the soft water, he took it out and turned it over in his palm. </p><p>It shamed Merlin a bit to see that the brooch could use a polish, but he traced the tarnished outline of the bird and around the edge of the quartered background and sighed. Truth be told, even with his magic, going off to war scared him more than a bit. He had heard every horror that he could imagine in his time serving as a doctor to war trauma patients and wasn’t in a hurry to run into the fray himself. But he knew that was cowardly. </p><p>He squeezed the sigil until the edges bit into the flesh of his palm. What would Arthur think of him now? How many other men were happily signing up to defend their country without the protection of magic — or immortality? Yet it was not dying that Merlin was afraid of. </p><p>Merlin sighed and gave the water a kick, then pushed himself to his feet. Before he turned up the hill, he paused and ran his hand appreciatively over the gnarled bark of the willow tree that had grown tall and strong. A gentle breeze stirred the leaves, which were already beginning to turn yellow with the cooler nights. Merlin looked up into its sprawling branches and tried not to think about how he knew that as long as he was away from Rosehill, Arthur couldn’t possibly return. It would only be a matter of a few years and then he would be back again. </p><p>Perhaps by then it would be time for his King to come back to him as well.</p><p>*</p><p>The war was worse than Merlin could have imagined — and after all the stories he had heard, his imaginings had been pretty bleak. </p><p>With his credentials he had been offered a position at one of the makeshift medical hospitals situated nearby the front lines but out of the combat zone — but he shook his head stubbornly, insisting on being on the front lines with the other soldiers where he could be of most use. </p><p>Merlin knew that by the grace of his medical skills and the assistance of his magic, he saved the lives of many men during those horrible years. And yet, for decades after when he laid in his bed at night, all he could think of were all the men that had bled out on foreign shores, Merlin’s weakened magic unable to help them. The men who were truly no more than boys screaming for their mothers as their internal organs spilled into Merlin’s useless hands. The shells he hadn’t been able to shield the men from, because there were too many, and they were coming too fast, and Merlin was no longer used to the sensory overload of being in battle. </p><p>He pushed on for years, never taking a leave even when pressed by his commanding officer, never straying far from the sides of whichever squadrons he was assigned to. His reputation preceded him and he found himself shipped to wherever combat was breaking out the heaviest, screaming into the indecisive faces of fellow medics to leave him and take the soldier bleeding out next to him instead, then gritting his teeth against the pain of healing himself with his barely-there magic. This far from the Lake of Avalon and with his senses overwhelmed constantly, usually the best he could do was staunch the bleeding and smooth over the most obvious of his external wounds, but he remained in pain near constantly for the long years that the war roiled on. </p><p>Merlin had never yet gotten quite to the point of wanting to test his immortality — truthfully, most of him didn’t want to know whether he was able to die — but now he almost wished that he had. There was more than one long day on the battlefield when Merlin — already nursing one wound or another only to be clipped again — wished he <em>could </em>die. But it was always a passing thought, and usually followed up quickly by, <em>Arthur, you stupid lazy prat, where </em>are<em> you</em>.</p><p>But like all things must, the war eventually ended and Merlin, who had tiredly refused to accept any of the accolades they had tried to press upon him, was at last on a train back to Avalon. He’d been living in a kind of mild daze since the cease-fire, after which he slept for three days straight, waking only to piss and to inhale the rations that were left for him, he didn’t even remember how he’d purchased his ticket or gotten on the right train, but he could tell from the stirring of his magic that he was growing nearer and nearer to Arthur. </p><p>Michael, now nearing fifty and grey at the temples, met Merlin at the train station and for a moment he had to bite back a hysterical burst of laughter at the look on his face. Had it really been so few years since Merlin had waited on this same track for Michael to arrive home? Had Merlin given him the same look of wariness and pity as was now painted on Michael’s face? But he pushed these thoughts out of his head and let Michael shake his hand and press him into the car. </p><p>Later that night, once he knew the rest of the house was asleep, Merlin crept out the kitchen door and cut through the rose garden. He paused to brush the tips of his fingertips along the silky petals of the cardinal de richelieu roses, which had held onto the magic he had imbued in them after his long-ago quarrel with Christopher and were the envy of gardeners across the county. Merlin made his way wearily down the sloping lawn and paused near the lake’s shore to press his face into the rough bark of the willow tree. He stripped off his clothes and stacked them neatly on the weathered bench, then stepped into the water. </p><p>The night was silent, the insects quiet in the autumn chill and the wind still enough that the branches of the willow hung still in the starlight. The soft splashes of Merlin’s steps sounded loud to his ears, and instead of diving into the water as he was wont to do, he waded in until the water reached his knees, then lowered himself to sit on the sandy lake bed.</p><p> He closed his eyes to the dark swirl of water and let his magic and the lake’s magic mingle and wash over his body like gentle hands as he scooped up large handfuls to pour over his chest and face. He didn’t grow any younger, but he could feel the wounds he had suffered in the war fully heal at last. The physical pain that he had been living with for years slowly leached out of him until he could draw his knees up to his chest and grip them tightly to his body. He pressed his face to them and it wasn’t long before he felt warm tracks begin to make their way across his water-cooled cheeks. </p><p>He wasn’t even sure why he was crying exactly, only that his thin frame was suddenly wracked with sobs that seemed like they would never end. He didn’t fight it, just let the tears come fast and heavy, then slower and sadder. Eventually they stopped altogether and he was left staring over the dark surface of the water, bone weary. </p><p>At length he stood and shook himself off, pulled his clothes back on over his damp frame, and quietly made his way back to his attic bedroom. Lying in the bed, he was not surprised to find that though his body was restored, his spirit still suffered. He hoped that perhaps this first night back at Rosehill that he would dream of Arthur, and it would be a small comfort. But when he shut his eyes to sleep, all that came were the scream of shells and the memory of bitter blood filling his mouth. </p><p>*</p><p>Merlin tried to return to the practice with Michael, but found himself unable to focus properly anymore. He thought of scenes he had witnessed in the war frequently and dreamt of them nearly as often. Whereas before his time in combat he had been content waiting for his King to return, now he wondered whether he even would. His magic, which he was used to having at a constant swirl beneath his skin, receded further and further into himself with each passing week of disuse. He wondered in a detached sort of way whether it would eventually be lost to him altogether. When he bothered to feel for the pulsing spark of Arthur’s spirit within him, which wasn’t often, it felt as sluggish and dull as he did. Some days he wondered whether he had made the whole thing up, if Camelot had even been a real place. It sounded like a fairy tale to even his own ears. </p><p>He pushed on for a season or two despite being plagued with memories of the war and a general lack of interest in being a living thing. He dropped all his correspondence and social visits, gradually refusing to visit the village for anything other than necessary trips for provisions. His world, which had never been all that wide to begin with, had shrunk down to Rosehill. He spent many sleepless nights pacing its halls, all the curtains facing the lake drawn tightly. He couldn’t bear the thought that Arthur might somehow be able to see him like this. The colour had drained out of his life. Words like magic and destiny seemed nothing more than flights of fancy that couldn’t possibly apply to a miserable creature like him. </p><p>He found himself growing disdainful of his civilian patients. Deep down he knew that nearly everyone in Avalon had suffered as a result of the war — that society as a whole had been asked to do unthinkable things — but still the spark of anger flared up again and again. In all his years of doctoring, he had always enjoyed caring for the patients, visiting with them and soothing their worries, but he didn’t seem to be able to access that part of himself anymore. One day Michael overheard him snapping at an older woman about how he had fought for her safety during the war while she sat at home and pulled him aside. He firmly reminded Merlin that two of the women’s sons had been killed in the war then equally firmly suggested that he take the rest of the day off to collect himself.</p><p>Merlin trudged up the stairs to his room, feeling mutinous. He paced and shouted and pounded his fists against the wall. He tore books off the shelf and flung them around the room. He knew it was ridiculous, that he was acting like a child — but he also knew that there was a black pit of guilt and self-hatred waiting for him at the end of the anger, so he tried to clutch on to his fury for as long as he could.</p><p>Finally, in a desperate bid to hold onto his fading anger at the world, he turned his thoughts to Arthur and was surprised to find rage filling him again at the thought of the man. What was so important about Arthur, anyway? Why was Merlin doomed to wait here, living all these lives that ranged from boring to miserable, just to wait for a failed king — one who hadn’t lived up to his destiny and who hadn’t even been able to achieve the most basic task of uniting Albion and returning magic to the realm? Why was Merlin — who had been made to hide the most essential parts of his identity for years — cursed to wait for this man? What could they possibly do together now, when Merlin had spent a lifetime unable to achieve a single thing he had set out to do? </p><p>Hands shaking with outrage, Merlin tore through his trunk until he unearthed the brooch bearing Ygraine’s sigil. He clenched it tightly in his hand. Arthur, born of magic, had died of magic, and there was nothing — nothing — Merlin would ever be able to do to change that. </p><p>By now the office was closed for the night and the dusk was gathering as Merlin stalked to the Lake of Avalon. He barely paused at its shore before he was flinging the brooch with all his might into the middle of the lake. He whirled around and marched determinedly back to the house without looking to see where it landed or what response the lake might have.</p><p>Back in his room, he dosed himself with laudanum and fell into a heavy sleep. </p><p>He did not dream. </p><p>*</p><p>As soon as he had awoken, he had regretted his cruel thoughts toward Arthur and the loss of the brooch, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to return to the lake. He could barely look at it anymore without burning with shame and anger and sadness. </p><p>In the days that followed he could feel everything slipping out of his hands, but couldn’t be bothered to stop it. Michael approached him to let him know that he’d be returning into the village and closing down the practice at Rosehill, gently but firmly letting Merlin know that he wouldn’t be welcome to join. Merlin nodded numbly and went about making the preparations to separate the business from his property. He tried not to think about how patiently he had worked with Michael when he returned from the war, the hours he had put in to help the man become whole again. He genuinely didn’t begrudge the man escaping. He knew there was no one who could fix him now. </p><p>Once the doctor’s office was relocated, he relieved his small staff, locked up Rosehill, and moved into the small cottage at the back of the property that he still thought of as Lucy and Charlie’s. He couldn’t bear to be in the old house any more. </p><p>Not long after he had settled into the cottage, there came a raging storm, the magnitude of which matched that in Merlin’s vision. He sat at the small table, a mug of tea clutched in his hands, and felt like a miserable coward for praying that this wasn’t Arthur’s time to return. Not long after he had gone to lay in the narrow bed, wind howling at the eaves, he heard a tremendous crack. A part of him already knew what had happened, but it wasn’t until he had sprinted to the top of the hill and could see it for himself that he believed it. </p><p>The magnificent willow tree that he had planted all those years before, which had grown and matured all those years along with Merlin, was lying on its side, trunk split in two and branches still tangling wildly in the wind. He let out a strangled cry and flung himself down the hill, the winds pushing at him and making him stumble to the ground. The rain had started up again and was pelting at the back of his neck and he collapsed on all fours at the water’s edge. </p><p>“Fuck,” he screamed into the night air, followed by a sob that felt as though it had ripped from his chest. </p><p>“Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m so —” he gasped, the words torn away from his lips and lost instantly to the shrieking of the storm. His head hung between his shoulders and his body shook as he wept. He was soaked to the skin and the crack of more trees being blown over echoed across the lake. When another gust tore at his clothes and threatened to push him over, Merlin spread his fingers in the sandy lake bed and clung for dear life. As he scrambled for purchase, his fingers bumped into something hard and round. Without thinking he clutched his hand around it and knew the shape instantly. </p><p>He pushed back to his knees and pressed Ygraine’s sigil to his cheek with both hands, rocking himself wildly, unsure anymore whether he was laughing or crying. </p><p>
  
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In the weeks and months that followed, Merlin began the hard work of healing. His progress was slow, and it seemed like for every step he took forward he took three back. But over time he did begin to recenter and refocus the pieces of himself that had been fragmented in the war. He kept mostly to himself, trying to create a gentle routine for himself much the way he had with his own patients in the Great War. He began to take long walks around the shore of the lake, and it was on one of these walks that he discovered a deposit of rich brown clay gleaming along its banks. It had been so long, but not so long for him to forget. He dug out a chunk of clay and brought it back to the hut. </p>
<p>Less than a month later, after a trip to the bank in town where he learned that his stocks had recovered nicely, Merlin had installed a modern potter’s wheel and kiln into his cottage home and was once again getting acquainted with the art of pottery. </p>
<p>The muscle memory was still there, but the new equipment was a bit of a challenge at first — more than one serviceable bowl was lost to his inability to use the new kiln. But after some trial and error, Merlin was sucked back into the hypnotising rhythm of the clay spiraling on the wheel in front of him, his fingers gliding along and guiding its growth. He found that focusing on the clay’s shape left little room in his brain for bad thoughts, and for a while he was digging up clay by the wheelbarrowful and spending his days frantically making bowl after mug after vase. </p>
<p>Eventually the desperation receded and he found himself honing in on the craft. He would spend a whole day with one block of clay, making and remaking its shape, until he felt almost intimately acquainted with it. He graduated from making the simple mugs and dishes that had earned him his keep for many a lifetime and began to make more stylised sculptures. Of course, the clay seemed by virtue of its origin to be imbued with a touch of the lake’s magic, which only made it more enjoyable for Merlin to work with. </p>
<p>He still had bad days — days where he couldn't bring himself to get out of bed, as well as nights where he was so plagued by nightmares that he stayed awake until dawn was breaking over Avalon. But in between there were moments of peace and always there was the clay — this time, slowly shaping him back into a whole man.</p>
<p>Merlin kept his promise to himself to not fall out of society completely. He started making some trips into town and occasionally went round for tea with Michael. He sold some of his better pieces to a local art gallery and began to take the occasional commission.</p>
<p>As the years passed, Merlin slowly turned his attention back outward and considered his arrangement. He didn’t feel like he was ready yet to plant a new willow tree, nor could he bring himself to move back into the great house. He did manage to spend one fine spring closing the house down properly, including boxing up much of its contents and selling off the rest. He felt sure that the dear house would remain important to him, but it still held too many ghosts for him to occupy if he wanted to keep moving forward. </p>
<p>Having made that decision, Merlin turned his attention toward making the cottage into a real home. He redecorated and made small updates as changing technology dictated, but managed to keep its charm. After a month of neglecting his clays to expand the cottage to allow for a studio and rearranging the rest of its contents for long term habitation, Merlin collapsed into his bed with an exhausted smile on his face.</p>
<p>The dream was briefer than the others had been, with only a quick glimpse afforded to him. But the vision of entering his softly lit bedroom to see Arthur’s broad back where he appeared to be sleeping in a tangle of soft grey blankets restored the last piece of Merlin’s battered heart. </p>
<p>He planted the new willow at dawn. </p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Merlin was content to let the years slip by for a while, living his semi-reclusive life and being known in town as the eccentric artist on the hill. The previously tiny village of Avalon had started growing at an alarming rate after the war. Merlin had been approached several times by developers who wished to buy the estate, but he was happier than ever for Rosehill and his solitude. He refused even the most exorbitant offer and carried on with his clay.</p>
<p>As time passed, Merlin was surprised to find himself wishing for a bit of company. He decided to offer a beginners ceramic class, which turned out to be very popular among Avalon’s beleaguered housewives. Most of them spent more time gossiping amongst themselves and flirting with him than creating art, but Merlin didn’t begrudge them one bit. Especially when they trailed past the lovingly tended rose gardens and exclaimed at how beautiful the blooms were. </p>
<p>Merlin noticed that there was one woman who always seemed to sit away from the rest. Joan was short and fair haired with dark circles under her eyes and a stubborn streak when it came to moulding the clay to her desires. Merlin, who felt a kinship with anyone skirting the edges of society, was drawn to her but was only rewarded with glares when he tried to hover too close. He was intensely curious about her clear exhaustion and inquired one day whether she had an infant at home. She responded with a snort.</p>
<p>“No infant. No children at all,” she said shortly. </p>
<p>“I beg your pardon,” Merlin said, “You just seemed tired, so I wondered whether — oops!” Merlin, in his attempt to sidle closer to the woman had bumped his hip into her station and sent her vase crumpling in on itself. </p>
<p>Two women across the room looked at each other and snickered to themselves. Joan shot Merlin a glare but pointedly ignored the other women who were now smirking at their clay. </p>
<p>“I work,” she said, mashing her clay back into a lump and centering it on the wheel. “A lot. Suppose there’s some that’d say I work too much.” </p>
<p>Merlin glanced over his shoulders at the rest of the class and finally cottoned on to the tension. He knew that Avalon had become an affluent town and that most of the women stayed home raising children, so he could see why Joan's choices might raise an eyebrow in the present crowd. </p>
<p>"What do you do?" Merlin asked, nudging the pail of water closer to her. Joan dipped her hand in and re-wet the clay. </p>
<p>"I'm a Nurse. At Avalon General."</p>
<p>"Really?" Merlin exclaimed. Joan looked wary, as if he might be making fun of her, but he hurried on. "Well, it's only that I worked in the medical field as well. Before I started with the pottery, that is."</p>
<p>Joan glanced at him curiously. "Why'd you stop?" </p>
<p>Merlin cleared his throat. </p>
<p>"I got sick. It was a long time ago," he answered lightly. "But tell me now, where did you go to school?" </p>
<p>Long after the rest of the class had cleaned up their stations and trickled out, Merlin sat with Joan and talked. Over tea in the cottage, he learned how she had attended nursing school after her husband had been in a debilitating accident and that she handled all his care now whilst working double shifts to cover their expenses. She had signed up for the class at her husband’s insistence — ostensibly because he wanted her to have fun, but she suspected that he really wanted her to make friends. </p>
<p>“Not likely with this lot,” she said, taking one of the biscuits Merlin offered. </p>
<p>“I’ll be your friend,” Merlin said, and was surprised to find that he really hoped he would. It felt like so long since he had shared any kind of intimacy with anyone. </p>
<p>“Well, in that case ...” Joan took two more biscuits from the tin and they laughed. </p>
<p>Merlin found himself telling Joan haltingly about his time in the war, about trying to return to doctoring only to be gently pushed out of his own practice. He told her about the dark days and the way he had to struggle against the darkness to slowly bring himself back. By the end of the conversation Merlin was exhausted, but when Joan slipped her hand into his and squeezed he felt as though a weight had been lifted. </p>
<p>*</p>
<p>“Have you ever thought about nursing?” Joan asked, pouring milk into her tea. Their after-lesson tea had become a bit of a ritual at this point and Merlin looked forward to it all week. </p>
<p>“I don’t know,” Merlin said, surprised. “I supposed I always thought that if I went back I'd be a doctor again.” </p>
<p>Joan was shaking her head. “If it’s patient care you want, you’d be better off as a nurse. Everyone knows we’re the ones who actually care for patients — doctors just flit in once a day, scribble in the chart, and write a prescription. And nursing since the NHS passed is nothing like it was under the Poor Law. There’s actually proper training <em>and</em> proper wages. Think it over,  won’t you?”</p>
<p>Merlin did think it over, and in no time at all their casual chats over tea had turned into Joan grilling Merlin over medication names and doses and proper sanitising procedures. Merlin had retained a lot from medical school, but was surprised at how much had changed in a relatively short time. Nevertheless, he passed nursing school with flying colours, one of only two men in his class and the eldest by ten years. He dealt with a fair amount of ridicule for being a male nurse, but his work ethic and cheerful nature soon won over most of his co-workers. </p>
<p>It took some adjusting for Merlin to get used to working for someone else and on their schedule, but once he got used to it he found he preferred it to being the one in charge. When something went wrong, he reported it to the supervising nurse, and at the end of each day he was able to return home instead of staying up late managing paperwork or ordering supplies. He liked being in the hospital too, with its modern design and proximity to downtown. He found himself stopping occasionally at a pub to have a pint with Joan and some of the other nurses after work, or stopping at a bakery that he’d grown fond of. </p>
<p>He was constantly amazed at how much Avalon had grown in the short time he’d spent mostly sequestered in the cottage. Developers continued to attempt to curry favour with him, as Rosehill now stood on a prime piece of lakefront property and had a skyrocketing value. But Merlin had diversified his stocks after the war and certainly wasn’t hurting for money, so he continued to dig his heels in. </p>
<p>Rosehill itself hadn’t changed much over the years, but it was impossible to ignore the ways that growing Avalon had nevertheless found a way to impose. Merlin could hear the sounds of traffic from the city most evenings when he sat on his bench by the lake, and as the city sprawled, he found its lights glowing brighter as well. </p>
<p>“I can barely even see the stars at night anymore,” Merlin complained to Joan over tea one evening. She had officially quit ceramics years ago, but they had kept their habit of tea and company on Tuesday nights. </p>
<p>“You should take a camping trip. Up to the Lake District, maybe,” Joan told him, setting her cup in its saucer. “Robert and I went once, back before his accident. I might still have some pamphlets at home.”</p>
<p>Which was how Merlin found himself alone in the woods, miles from another person on a chilly autumn evening. He had hiked for the better part of the day over the sweeping moors and finished by climbing up a rather steep hill to the edge of the woods, which he knew would protect him from the worst of the wind. As he set up his modest camp, he was thankful that he hadn’t let the salesman at the outdoors shop talk him into more equipment than he knew he needed. Partly because he’d had quite enough to tote up the hill without a tent and camp stove, but mostly because when he looked around the camp he’d made, he could let his mind slip into the past without much to interrupt it. </p>
<p>Once he had unpacked his bed roll and refilled his canteen from a nearby spring, he gathered enough wood to last the night. After he had cooked his meal over the happily crackling fire, he settled back to watch the sun setting over the distant horizon. From the edge of the wood, the gently rolling hills swept out below him in every direction and the sky seemed vast and endless. Merlin felt relieved that the sight could still make him feel so small and insignificant, when most of his life his magic had made him feel anything but. </p>
<p>He fed sticks to the fire regularly as the sun sank in the sky, creating layers of colour that seemed to change by the minute from warm yellows and oranges to rosy pinks and deep purples. Merlin watched with simple wonder as the landscape spread out below him changed contours as shadows lengthened and then blurred into night. More stars were becoming visible in the velvety purple sky as the moments passed and Merlin almost wanted to hold his breath to take in the sheer beauty of it. The night sky, exactly as he remembered it. </p>
<p>Full darkness slowly settled over the woods and the little fire still snapping occasionally over a wet branch was the only light that could be seen other than the stars. Merlin had picked a night with no moon for his trip and had worried it might be too dark, a thought that was banished by the splendour of the Milky Way hung before him. The river of stars sprawled dazzlingly overhead, its swirling whitish blues curtained by the rich blackness of night. The sight settled something in deep within Merlin that he hadn’t realised had been out of sorts. A moment of true peace settled over him, but he felt his heart twist painfully when he looked back to the camp, half expecting to see Arthur beside him. How many nights had they spent just like this, camping in a small grove with only the sound of the horses whickering nearby and the popping of the fire. </p>
<p>Merlin sighed and stretched out in his bed roll beside the fire, eyes still trained on the sea of starlight above him. He rested a hand on his chest, where he could feel the hum of Arthur’s spirit steady beneath his palm. </p>
<p>After that trip, Merlin made it a point to journey out of Avalon at least once a year to spend some time with the night sky, feeling close to his King and their presumably still shared destiny. Although spending time with something as eternal as the stars made him feel closer to Camelot than anything else could, Merlin found that his trips also gave him space to dwell on the future. Some day Arthur <em>would</em> return — and what would happen to them then? Had Merlin changed too much — would he be a stranger to Arthur? And how could Merlin possibly hope to acclimate him to everything that had changed in the world all at once? There was also the question of what form he would take — Merlin had always presumed his own immortality … would Arthur be an immortal creature too then? Or would they be allowed to move into the afterlife together some day? </p>
<p>Less practically, Merlin couldn’t help but think of his tender feelings toward Arthur, which had only seemed to grow as the years trudged on. He knew what he had wanted back then, although he hadn’t quite had the words for it yet, and now he found himself longing for Arthur’s touch, for his affection and devotion. But would Arthur feel the same way? Could he grow to?</p>
<p>There were no answers to these questions, so Merlin tried his best to let them go. He hadn’t made it this long by dwelling on the nature of the world’s magic, so he wasn’t about to start when he was so close to getting his heart’s one desire. It was enough for him that this time, he and Arthur would be figuring their destiny out together. That was all that mattered. </p>
<p>*</p>
<p>“It’s a whole new department they’ll be starting, a different building and everything,” Joan was telling him one Tuesday evening over tea. Merlin was half listening, frowning as he sorted through his mail. “I really think it’s something you would be good at.”</p>
<p>“And it’s all palliative care?” Merlin said absently, tearing open a thick, official looking envelope. </p>
<p>“Yes, hospice. You know you’ve got the best bedside manner of anyone at Avalon General. They’ll need people like you, with a gentle touch.”</p>
<p>Merlin hummed as he skimmed the letter. “Well, I can certainly consider transferring after the first of the — oh, bugger.”</p>
<p>“What is it?” Joan asked. He passed her the letter. </p>
<p>“Apparently one of these developers got desperate enough to go back three generations and find a lien on the property,” he said grimly as she furrowed her brow at the legalese on the page. “Know any good solicitors?”</p>
<p>In the end, two things happened that winter. The first was that Merlin, with the help of an excellent tax lawyer — and with lots of private cursing at Christopher for transposing two numbers in 1866, resulting in an underpayment of his tax bill — was successful in clearing the lien from the property. At the lawyer’s suggestion, they also took the additional steps of adding the Rosehill Estate to the National Historic list as the home of decorated war hero General Christopher Marleigh and the site of the Emrys Hospital for Wounded Soldiers, preserving both the house and the grounds from development. The compromise being that Merlin had to make Rosehill open to the public at least once per month and allow tours of the great house and rose gardens, which he was more than happy to do if it put an end to the relentless hounding. </p>
<p>The second was that he transferred to the new hospice building run by Avalon General and took to the job at once. </p>
<p>Merlin had enjoyed being a medical-surgical nurse in the hospital and was good at his job, but been struggling with the long hours and feeling as though he was nothing but an order-filler and a servant to the call-button. He wondered some nights whether he was truly doing enough or having any impact at all. Making the switch to hospice had allowed him to have a more independent schedule that was focused directly on the needs of his patients and their families without interference, which suited Merlin perfectly. </p>
<p>Merlin’s intimate familiarity with death and saying goodbye allowed him to connect with and comfort grieving people from all walks of life, and it wasn’t long before he was highly respected and sought after in the hospice community. It was also a comfort that he was less tempted to use his magic to prolong the lives of his patients, many of whom had already made their peace with their impending death. </p>
<p>He found that sometimes, when he was alone with a patient who was nearing their end — the right kind of patient, who seemed to still have a bit of capacity left for fairy tales — he could tell them his story. For more than one patient he spun the tale of a naive young warlock who met a pompous prince, how they grew together into a brave king and the mightiest sorcerer of the land. Together they battled mythical beasts and dark witches in a world long gone. Two men who were destined to be together, torn apart by fate. How the warlock was mourning, wandering the earth waiting for the day that his king would return. </p>
<p>“And I am that warlock,” he’d tell them, his eyes glowing with just the faintest touch of gold. “Will you greet my king from me when you pass through to the other side?” </p>
<p>They always squeezed his hand to show they would. Whether they were able to or not wasn’t for Merlin to know. </p>
<p>*</p>
<p>It was bittersweet for Merlin to discover that he did still have the capacity to mourn — it hadn’t been lost to him over the ages. This was demonstrated most clearly when he was assigned a new patient with a familiar name. </p>
<p>Merlin had gotten to know Joan’s husband Robert in bits and pieces over the years. He had always been a private man and was made even more so by the accident that left him disabled. But he had been unfailingly friendly to Merlin and of course Joan had been his best friend for decades by now. Merlin spent nearly all his time at work during the last weeks of Robert’s life. In preparing for death, Robert opened up in a way Merlin’s hadn’t witnessed before and would regale him with tales of him and Joan in their youth. His passing was peaceful, but the worst heartache was yet to come. </p>
<p>“I’m moving in with my sister in the states,” she told him tearfully. They were sitting in Merlin’s cottage on a Tuesday evening with their customary cup of tea. Merlin felt a lump rise in his throat but just nodded.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry, Merlin — I wanted to tell you before he was gone but I just couldn’t bring myself to.”</p>
<p>“It’s fine, I understand,” Merlin said with a watery smile. “But gosh I’ll miss you.”</p>
<p>“Maybe you could visit sometime? She says it’s always warm and sunny, nothing like this English weather.” </p>
<p>“It sounds lovely,” Merlin said, knowing he would never travel so far away from the lake. </p>
<p>Shortly after Joan left for the states Merlin made the decision to retire, much to the dismay of the hospice community. But he couldn’t deny that his body had once again grown too old and tired for him to continue his work. The scars he had sustained long ago in the war had begun to ache in ways that couldn’t be cured by simple magic alone. </p>
<p>And yet, he resisted restoring his body back to its youth, electing instead to spend several years enjoying a leisurely pensioner’s life of early mornings, slow walks by the lake, and quiet suppers alone. He studied the news, watching as the tragedy and triumph of the end of the millennium played out. And when the new millennium arrived with much celebration and fanfare, he couldn’t help but think back to the ringing in of the previous century when they had lost Christopher, and how close it all still seemed. He thought too of Arthur, and wondered wearily when there would be a need great enough for his return. If there would ever be one. </p>
<p>Several springs later, Merlin was feeling so melancholic that he knew there was only one cure. </p>
<p>When his head broke through the surface of the lake of Avalon, white hair restored back to its raven black, he gave a whoop of delight despite the late hour. As soon as he had plunged into the depths, he knew with certainty that Arthur <em>would</em> return, and that the return would happen in this lifetime. Soon. He stood under the star-filled early evening sky and laughed with the giddy joy of knowing that his long wait was nearly over. </p>
<p>He wanted to celebrate and in a flash thought of the gay night club in Avalon that he’d passed a hundred times. He’d always felt that he was too old to go in and look like anything but a pervert, but now. He grinned. There was just enough time to pop by the shops for some more appropriate clothing.</p>
<p>The bass of the music playing throbbed and lights flashed as Merlin worked his way to the middle of the dance floor. Every sense was full as he moved his body along to the beat, eyes closed and arms over his head. The grind of bodies against him, hands settling at his hips, even the occasional hot breath at his neck. It all felt so good. <em>Merlin</em> felt good — alive and young and beautiful, like every other boy on the dance floor with him. Every beat of the music echoed the pulsing of his heart. Arthur felt closer to him than ever, and his mind filled with thoughts of having his king by his side. He opened his eyes and found a shirtless blond man grinning down at him. Merlin grinned back and grabbed the man’s hand. He was in the mood for celebrating.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He knew it was a little vain, but as Arthur was set to be returning so soon Merlin decided not to age this go-around. He doubted that anyone would notice anyway, as the world seemed to be even more obsessed with youth than ever before. He also made the decision to embrace the rapidly developing technology that he had been avoiding for the last couple of decades, reasoning that Arthur would need someone to explain it to him.</p>
<p>Even the internet wasn’t enough to keep Merlin entertained for more than a year or two, so he magicked up some fresh credentials and reapplied to Avalon General’s A&amp;E department to keep himself from getting too twitchy with waiting. Record keeping had improved enough over the years and there were enough people at the hospital who remembered Merlin LeFay that he thought it best to take another pseudonym. He wondered for a brief time whether it would be too presumptuous to take Pendragon as a surname before settling on Emmerson Marleigh. He found that using Chrisptopher’s surname had the added bonus of people assuming he was one of the General’s many descendants, which garnered him slightly more respect when doing the mandatory tours of Rosehill. Unfortunately, it was not enough to keep swotty teenagers from trying to correct him on points of historical accuracy. </p>
<p>When he wasn’t at the hospital or giving tours of the great house and rose garden, Merlin found himself becoming a bit of a regular at the club. He was delighted to learn that in addition to being a dance club, there was a tamer pub in the back that hosted trivia events, karaoke nights, and other activities that didn’t involve being groped on the dance floor — not that he didn’t mind that once in a while as well. It had occurred to Merlin that being more involved in the gay community might not be a bad thing, especially if ... well, he couldn’t quite let his mind go there yet. </p>
<p>It was leaving the club late one winter evening after having solidly beat out that wanker Ericson at poker that he first met Shay. </p>
<p>“Spare a quid, mate?” </p>
<p>Merlin, feeling flush with his winnings, fished around for a tenner to hand to the girl then stopped and frowned. </p>
<p>“How old are you?” he asked.</p>
<p>Merlin saw a flash of fear in the girl’s dark eyes before she pasted on a coy smile. </p>
<p>“How old do you want me to be?” When Merlin just raised an eyebrow at her, she stuck her chin out. “I’m sixteen,” she said. Then muttered, “Not that it’s any of your business. Thanks for the dosh.” </p>
<p>She shoved the bill in the pocket of her threadbare hoodie and hurried away. </p>
<p>“Wait,” Merlin called out, chasing after her. “Do you have somewhere to stay? It’s going to be bitter tonight.” </p>
<p>Merlin persuaded the girl back to his cottage with many assurances that he wasn’t a serial killer and was actually quite a nice bloke..Once he plied her with tea and biscuits and his leftover takeaway from the night before, she slowly began to warm up to his charms. By the end of the night, Merlin had coaxed the whole story from her. </p>
<p>Later, as he laid awake on his couch after insisting Shay take the bed, Merlin turned the whole thing over in his head. That night he had learned that Shay’s parents had disowned her after she came out as transgendered. She had been staying with friends for several months but with the holidays approaching had been turned out and taken to the streets. She was afraid that she’d have to drop out of school as well if she couldn’t figure something else out soon. Merlin had asked if there were others like her who were struggling, and she had told him that she knew of at least one other girl like her who had gone into sex work in exchange for a place to sleep at night. </p>
<p>As Merlin stared at the ceiling, the seed of an idea had begun to form. He thought of Rosehill, sitting large and mostly untouched. He thought of the significant amount of money he had in savings, and of Shay being forced out of her home even though she was a child. </p>
<p>It didn’t happen overnight. But in the morning he talked to Shay about the idea, and when she responded with enthusiasm, he called a solicitor. Over the following months, Merlin connected with community activists and other not-for-profit organisations for advice. Shay helped him rearrange Rosehill to close off a wing of bedrooms to the public, of which she got first pick. He hounded the appropriate town boards until he was allowed to install a small kitchen and dorm style bathroom to the wing, and rearranged one of the bedrooms to be a common area. </p>
<p>Once they were established within the community and became known as a shelter for at risk LGBTQ+ youth, people in need of their services slowly began to trickle in. Some stayed for a long time, others just for a few nights, but Merlin was able to provide many of those coming through with basic medical services, employment in the form of tending to the gardens or giving house tours, and mental health referrals. </p>
<p>Merlin was so involved in the running of the non-profit side of the shelter and networking with others in the LGBTQ+ community that he cut down his hours at the A&amp;E to the occasional weekend shift or filling in when there was a gap in the schedule. He hadn’t worked so hard in years, but it was gratifying for him to see Rosehill once again full of people who needed his help and to have a measurable impact on the lives of the teens that came through the Rosehill shelter. He became close with Shay especially, and when she graduated uni with a first class degree, he was in the audience doing all he could not to blubber with pride. She had been accepted into a post-graduate degree program in Public Policy, but still helped Merlin out at the shelter whenever she could. </p>
<p>Merlin sat crossed-legged by the lake’s edge on a fine summer evening shortly after the graduation, exhausted but content. He had finally got to a place in his life where he was a truly happy and contributing member of society. He was proud of what he’d been able to accomplish with Rosehill — he only hoped Arthur would be too.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Merlin had grown so comfortable waiting that part of him had forgotten that the waiting would eventually end. For hundreds of years he had fantasised about the moment when his magic would signal that Arthur’s return was imminent, as he was sure that it would. He imagined he’d awaken from a vivid dream with a gasp, or that he’d feel compelled to the lake’s edge and would receive some kind of sign, or even that he’d be striding purposefully down the street and just <em>know</em>. </p>
<p>What he didn’t expect was that he’d be sitting cross legged on the floor of his room, back propped against his bed and well over a half hour into a TikTok trance. He blamed the damned kids at the shelter for that last part — he didn’t even <em>like</em> TikTok, or at least he didn’t think he did. They had started out videoing the pranks they pulled on him and when those went viral, begged him to do dances with them. Finally they had just downloaded the damned app on his mobile — and now every time he opened it to watch one or two of the short looping videos, suddenly it was an hour later.</p>
<p>He was still laughing at the reaction of the man whose boyfriend had played a Grindr notification tone when he suddenly felt his magic swirl around him, swell up and then flare out with a small but distinct rupture. It didn’t <em>hurt </em>exactly, but the sudden rush of magic out of nowhere startled Merlin enough to make him leap to his feet, sending the mobile and his bag of crisps tumbling to the floor. He stood, quivering as adrenaline flooded his veins. His mobile looped the video over and over, but he couldn’t hear it because he was focused on what was happening to his magic. His urge was to push out to sense what was around him, but it felt as though the magic was … leaking was the best way to describe it. He broke out in a clammy sweat and fumbled to turn his mobile off, then ran out into the chilly November afternoon. Once he had jogged down the lawn and was standing under the willow, he shut his eyes tight and tried to probe gently at the stream of magic trickling out through his chest. He held his breath and — <em>there</em>. He followed the thin stream of magical energy from where it was connected to his body and down through the lake. He held his breath and gave a tentative push of his magic, then gasped out, his breath creating a billow of white cloud in the cold air. </p>
<p>
  <em>Arthur.</em>
</p>
<p>Merlin slowly folded to the ground and sat cross-legged, his hands pressed to his mouth in disbelief. Then a bubble of laughter erupted from his chest and he felt a rush of euphoria come over him. Arthur was coming back! It was really happening at last! Judging by the rate the magic was draining, it would be no more than a week, but he did have some time. Just a matter of a days and he would finally really be <em>here,</em> beside Merlin, in the flesh, and he wouldn’t be alone anymore and they’d be — they’d be —</p>
<p>“Em!” a voice called from up the hill, sounding annoyed. “You said we could go for chips tonight and if you’re trying to get out of it, I —” </p>
<p>“Grey, shut up,” another voice came, sounding more worried. “I think he’s having a panic attack or something!”</p>
<p>The first voice scoffed but was silent as the footsteps got closer. </p>
<p>“Em?” the gentle voice penetrated his ears and a heart-shaped face with pink hair filled his vision. “Are you okay? Take a deep breath with me, okay? In and out … just like you showed us.” </p>
<p>Merlin felt as though his senses were underwater, still following the magic to the murky depths of the lake, but when the girl squeezed his hands time suddenly sped up and he came crashing back to the present. </p>
<p>“Oh god,” he said, looking into Sophie and Grey’s startled faces. “I’m not ready. <em>How </em>could I not be ready?! God I’m an idiot!” </p>
<p>“What are you talking about,” Sophie said gently, shooting a worried look at her partner. Grey just scoffed again and crossed their arms over their chest. </p>
<p>“He’s just trying to get out of bringing us for chips, I told you.”</p>
<p>“<em>Grey</em>,” Sophie said. “Don’t be an arsehole. He’s not okay!”</p>
<p>“No!” Merlin said, suddenly seeming to focus on the pair in front of him. “I’m okay, I am it’s just. <em>Fuck</em>, I don’t have food or clothes or — a toothbrush! The house is a mess! I need to — but yes, chips, Grey — I did promise. Here,” he fumbled some notes into their hands. </p>
<p>“You two go, then it’ll be like a proper date. Just bring back some for the others? I’ve got to — <em>buggering</em> shit, I can’t believe- no I’m fine, really, I’ve just got to.” </p>
<p>Merlin decided it was best to stop talking and set off back to the cottage, leaving the pair shrugging at each other on the lawn. He shut the door behind him and then pressed his back to it, taking a critical look around the house. The little cottage had been updated several times through the decades, but still maintained its unfussy charm. It was messy, but the benefit to small houses was that they cleaned up quickly. </p>
<p>As he moved through the cottage gathering up the dirty dishes and clothes that were strewn about, his brain veered sharply left from sensibility and into full panic. He’d always known — dreamed — that this day was coming, thought about what it would be like. But despite the time spent thinking about Arthur in the flesh before him, and how he would go about explaining how the entire <em>world</em> had changed, he hadn’t ever given much thought to practicalities — a fact that was now threatening to overwhelm his brain.</p>
<p>He took another deep breath, remembering with a wince that he had probably scared the crap out of Grey and Sophie, and tried to focus. What did he do at work when they were having one of those full moon, off the rocker type days? </p>
<p>“A list,” he murmured, darting into the kitchen. “I need to make a list. All the lists. Everything I need to do before —” he took another shaky breath and sat down at the kitchen table with a pad of paper and a biro. </p>
<p>An hour and several glasses of brandy later, autopilot had taken over and he’d organised and prioritised the tasks that needed to be done. He had a list of scheduling considerations, like telling work he needed to be off for a couple of weeks, canceling tours for Saturday, and talking a bit to the kids currently staying in the shelter about what was going on — he was sure Shay was more than capable of taking his place for a week if need be. </p>
<p>He had a list of things he needed to do to get the house cleaned up, which included trying to cover up some of the more alarming modernisations so as not to overwhelm Arthur too quickly, and clearing out the second bedroom so they’d each have their own space — if they needed it. Gods he hoped they didn’t need it. He had a grocery list with enough food to cover the first week, so that he didn’t have to run out if Arthur was feeling scared or uncertain or overwhelmed. </p>
<p>And finally he had a list of personal items that he’d need to pick up for Arthur. His brain stuttered over the latent absurdity of picking a deodorant scent for his King and then shorted out when he pictured himself trying to explain to Arthur’s no-doubt puzzled face what deodorant even <em>was</em>.</p>
<p>There was a larger set of questions floating around his head that he couldn’t bring himself to put to paper because they would take up his brain’s entire bandwidth. Questions like — should I quit working at the hospital? Will I need to close down the shelter? Does this mean something horrible is going to be happening in Britain soon? Do we still have a destiny to fulfill? How will I manage to catch Arthur up on hundreds of years of history as well as teach him how to brush his teeth and flush the toilet and use the chip and pin machine? Whenever his brain lingered too long on any one of those thoughts he tore it away forcefully and tried to focus back on the more practical tasks.</p>
<p>Not wanting to waste time, he went through his list of food. He had tried to pick a couple of things that he remembered Arthur liked, and then shamefully resorted to google to try to remember what else they had been eating during their time at Camelot. Capon was apparently illegal in the UK now, so he splashed out for rush shipping from the continent and prayed that PETA UK wouldn’t get his address somehow. He was confident that the local farmer’s market and Tesco could provide the rest. </p>
<p>The rest of the week passed in a blur of Merlin scrubbing out the stubborn old claw-footed tub that had always resisted magical cleaning, explaining awkwardly to his boss that he was having a family emergency when he’d never spoken of any family before, and blushing in Marks &amp; Spencer when trying to decide whether Arthur would be more comfortable in boxers or briefs. It had been an awkward affair, with Merlin holding up T-shirts and trousers and trying to visualise what he remembered of Arthur’s body from the years he had looked after it. Surely he was misremembering how broad his shoulders had been? Or how thick his thighs were? The entire outing had left him flustered and uncertain. </p>
<p>Because there was one question that was looming so large that Merlin’s brain wouldn’t even let him approach it — and that was what exactly he and Arthur would be to each other. Merlin had been doing his best to prepare himself for the possibility that Arthur wouldn’t want the same things that he did. But he knew that no amount of low expectations could erase the longing that he already felt to crawl into Arthur’s arms and never leave again — to be a true partner at last for whatever was coming next. He prayed to the old gods that they would be afforded the time to untangle those questions before they were asked to do anything else. </p>
<p>In the end, it only took Merlin — who had barely been able to sleep at all — three days to get as much in place as he could. His magic was still draining and only seemed to do so more rapidly when he was farther away from the lake. By halfway through the second day, he had noticed it growing fainter, the way it had when he had been in London and away for the war. His body was growing more tired too, but he managed to finish what had been on the lists and fell into a fitful sleep. </p>
<p>The following morning, a sense of blissful calm descended over him, for which he was grateful. After texting Shay, he had turned off the notifications on his mobile and spent the day in quiet reflection, sifting through the well-worn memories of his time at Camelot that he had kept so preserved for all these years. He let himself become immersed in them in a way that he hadn’t since he had first come to the Lake of Avalon, reacquainting himself with all those dear old friends that he still ached to think of, and the battles and the dragons — wherever they had gotten off to when magic had faded from the land. He thought of holding Arthur’s trust, his respect, and — he thought — his love. </p>
<p>Suddenly, his meditation was interrupted by a shrill beeping from his mobile. Merlin frowned, crossing the small sitting room to fumble with the thing. When he swiped the screen to life he saw that there was a severe weather alert for a large thunderstorm that was expected to pass through Avalon that evening. Merlin took a shaky breath and scrubbed a hand over his face. He glanced around the house once more and hoped he was ready. </p>
<p>Despite the butterflies swooping in his stomach, Merlin’s magic seemed to be draining more quickly and when he sat on the sofa for a moment, fatigue pulled him under. He woke hours later to a terrifying clap of thunder. Merlin opened his eyes and immediately sensed the crackling of deep magic in the air. He leapt from the sofa and pulled on his boots with shaking hands, and then pushed open the door into the storm. </p>
<p>A cold rain lashed at him and soaked through his clothes immediately. Merlin cursed himself immediately for attempting to replicate the simple outfits he had worn in Camelot when he had a perfectly good waterproof raincoat in the coat closet, but it was too late to worry about that now. He pushed himself forward, blinking the water out of his eyes and hugging himself against the cold. When he rounded the corner and was faced with the lake, drawn by his magic like a hooked fish, his breath caught in his throat. Everything was exactly as it had been in his vision, the tossing willow, the choppy waves, the flashing lightning and pelting rain shivering over the lake’s surface. </p>
<p>What was different from the vision was the swirling magic that urged him on with a sense of urgency that blocked out all else for a moment. Merlin was momentarily frozen in place as the awareness of his own stupidity crashed over him like a wave. Why had he not realised it before — the <em>spell</em>, Merlin needed to speak a spell to bring Arthur back! And judging by the magic rapidly draining from his chest and the swelling of ancient and elemental around him, he was going to have a very narrow window to do so. </p>
<p>The terror spurred Merlin to sprint faster, even as he was frantically searching his brain to piece together the right words. He knew, powerful and ancient as his own magic had grown, that he should have been practicing this for <em>weeks</em> —months even! Should have been perfecting every syllable and what had he been doing? Watching TikTok and gardening with his pack of cast-off misfits. He choked out a sob as he reached the water’s edge, trying to fight back the wave of nausea that had come over him. </p>
<p>The wind was howling in his ears and making his thin clothes flap wetly against his cold skin. Icy rain was trickling down the back of his collar and the crashes of thunder were terrifyingly close, but Merlin squeezed his eyes shut and tried to focus. He couldn’t allow himself to think of what would happen if he missed his chance. Arthur had to come back, he had to, or there was nothing else left for Merlin. </p>
<p>The last bit of the magic separated from his chest and trailed toward the lake, moving with an eerie steadiness despite the winds, and he felt the magic surround him, come into his body, as the window narrowed. He held his breath, cleared his mind, and thought only of Arthur’s face. The wind stopped and all noises ceased. </p>
<p>
  <em>Just … just hold me, please.</em>
</p>
<p>Merlin opened his eyes and they glowed gold. He spoke into the pocket of silence.</p>
<p>
  <em>“Hamsiðe to Me, min Cyning”</em>
</p>
<p>He knew instantly that it had worked and felt a flood of relief course through his shaking body. But in the next second his senses crashed back into him and he collapsed to the ground with a cry of pain. The world seemed to be slowing down and growing blurry. He raised his impossibly heavy head, forced his eyes open and focused on the edge of the lake. His laboured breath echoed harshly in his ears, and the pattering of raindrops around him grew louder. </p>
<p>At first he couldn’t make out any sign of disturbance in the churning water, but just as his eyes were slipping shut he saw a glowing light from the depths. Three shallow breaths later there was some loud splashing, and then — there came a shout. </p>
<p>“MERLIN!”</p>
<p>He was too weak to laugh, but he huffed a breath at the sound of the voice — still familiar after all these years and dearer to him than anything else in the world. </p>
<p>Heavy footsteps pounded toward him, shaking the earth where Merlin’s cheek rested. He sensed a figure looming over him, blocking the rain that had been falling onto his face. It grabbed his hand and squeezed tightly. </p>
<p>“Merlin, you great buggering idiot,” came the choked voice of his King. “What have you done?” </p>
<p>Merlin smiled hugely — then the world went black.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Merlin awoke, he was lying on the sofa in his cottage feeling very warm and cosy beneath a mountain of blankets. There were quiet voices at the door and a delicious smell curling through the air. For a moment he thought he had just awoken from the nap he had been taking after getting everything ready for— </p><p>“Oh,” came Shay’s soft voice. “I think he’s waking up?”</p><p>The events of the evening came rushing back to him and his eyes flew open. From this angle he could just see a broad back in a far too tight shirt angled away from him, speaking to someone at the front door. He wanted to cry out, to leap up from the sofa, but he found he was still too weak to do more than just whimper softly. The figure at the door whipped around immediately and Merlin just had time to catch a glimpse of Shay’s worried face before it was crowded out by Arthur’s as he knelt at his side. </p><p>“Merlin?” Arthur said worriedly, running a palm over Merlin’s clammy forehead. “Are you okay?”</p><p>Merlin wanted to answer, but didn’t trust his voice. He had to close his eyes because he found the sight of his King’s face before him was too dear to take in all at once. The blackness came in to claim him once more. </p><p>*</p><p>The next time he opened his eyes, the cottage was dark except for the soft glow of the night light that Merlin had taken to keeping on in the hallway. He felt better than he had the last time he’d woken up, but still fatigued. It felt as though the magic that had been leaking out of him was slowly trickling back in — although that wasn’t right. It didn’t feel quite the same as his previous magic, but rather something richer. </p><p>A small snuffling noise drew his attention to the opposite side of the sofa, where Arthur was curled into a ball, sleeping. Merlin’s emotions felt as choppy and swirling as the lake had been, but he couldn’t keep the fond smile from his face. Merlin was tempted to shake him awake, as it seemed absurd that they hadn’t so much as greeted each other yet. But Merlin realised he had no idea what kind of ordeal Arthur had gone through to be sitting across from him now, snoring gently. </p><p>A guilty weight settled in Merlin’s stomach — he was supposed to be the one helping and comforting Arthur, not the other way around. He felt horrible that he had been left alone to fend for himself. It hadn’t even occurred to Merlin that should leave a note or instructions just in case. But then a foggy image from earlier in the night emerged in Merlin’s memory — Arthur had been talking to Shay at the door, his posture relaxed. He didn’t seem confused or afraid — anxious about Merlin, yes, but not what he would have expected from someone thrust into the modern era. </p><p>Merlin frowned to himself. <em>What happened to you, Arthur? </em>He wondered, but he could already feel exhaustion pulling him under again. He extended one leg just a bit until he could tuck it up alongside Arthur's body — warm and real and <em>here</em> — and let his gaze rest on Arthur’s serene face until sleep claimed him once more. </p><p>*</p><p>When Merlin woke again, the first thing he noticed was that it was already late-morning. Light was streaming through the curtains in the lounge, all signs of the previous night’s storm vanished. The second was that his magic — the new strange magic that had been flowing into his body — was mostly restored. He was still knackered, but he could tell that it would take much less time to make a full recovery than it had with his old magic. </p><p>The third was that there was a smell of toast in the air and someone making noise in the kitchen. </p><p>Just as he was deciding whether to call out or try to get up, Arthur came into the room, carefully balancing two mugs and a plate stacked with toast and jam. He was wearing the clothes that Merlin had bought him and the first thing Merlin noticed was that he had gotten the sizes terribly wrong. The poor shirt was stretched impossibly tight over his pectoral muscles and looked as if it would split if he flexed. </p><p>“Oh good,” Arthur said cheerfully, “I thought you seemed to be stirring, and I assumed you’d be hungry after missing dinner last night — although there’s leftover curry in the fridge if you’d rather. Isn’t this a turnabout, me serving you breakfast! Ha!” Arthur beamed down at Merlin, who could only gape back at him, and reflexively taking his favourite mug when it was pressed into his hand. </p><p>
  
</p><p>“Oh I didn’t leave though,” Arthur continued, misinterpreting Merlin’s look of horror. “Umm, last night that is. Shay went out to pick up the takeaway for us. Well, and for the kids too. I hope you don’t mind that I gave her your card, I figured buying dinner was the least I could do after traumatising her — I’m lucky she didn’t call the police after she saw me carrying you up the hill starkers. But we talked and I think we’re all sorted now. Thanks for giving her a heads up, but it will probably help if you vouch for me again now that you’re awake. How are you feeling?” </p><p>Merlin felt as if the world had slowly been tilted on its side as Arthur had been speaking and now he was looking at everything upside down. How was Arthur sitting here, happily slurping his tea in that irritatingly endearing way that Merlin had completely forgotten about until this second? How did he know Shay? How did he know what takeaway was? Merlin heard a rushing sound in his ears. Arthur was looking at him strangely. </p><p>“Merlin? I’m sorry, I know you wanted to cook because you have about forty random vegetables and some creepy little birds in the fridge, but also all the appliances are hidden or covered with sheets? So I got the impression that you didn’t want me to touch them. I did find the toaster though, as you can see,” Arthur crunched a slice of toast for emphasis, looking pleased with himself. </p><p>Had the entire thing been some kind of fever dream? Did Merlin just fall sick and dream up Camelot and fifteen hundred years of waiting? He felt his body begin to shake. </p><p>“Why are you talking like that,” Merlin finally got out, his voice unsteady and more sharp than he wanted it to be. Arthur looked taken aback but he continued. “How do you know what a toaster is? You were — you’ve been <em>dead </em>Arthur. For a long, long time. Why aren’t you — I don’t know! Scared or confused?”</p><p>Arthur <em>did</em> look confused now, come to think of it. He was looking at Merlin as if he had grown a second head. </p><p>“But I was watching,” Arthur said slowly. “The whole time, I was with you. Didn’t you know?” </p><p>Merlin felt the cold wash of adrenaline flooding his blood and tried to concentrate. </p><p>“What?! How could I possibly have— What do you mean, ‘watching’? Watching <em>me</em>?”</p><p>“Yes,” Arthur said slowly, as if he were talking to a toddler. “Because you took in my spirit — after the last of the Pendragon line was destroyed? You took my spirit in holding until my body could be returned.” </p><p>Merlin frantically cast back in his memory, trying and failing to remember the details of those dark days when he thought that Arthur’s presence had been snuffed out from the world for good. Truthfully, he could have done anything in those days and wouldn’t remember it, so deep had been his grief and despair. But he suddenly didn’t want Arthur knowing that. </p><p>“Well, so what if I did. I didn’t know you’d be <em>watching</em>.” </p><p>“I wasn’t <em>all</em> the time,” Arthur said, crossing his arms over his chest defensively. “I couldn’t see clearly if you went too far, only when you were in Avalon.”</p><p><em>In Avalon</em>. Merlin first felt a flush of embarrassment, thinking of all the times he’d been weak or stupid, or the long years after the war when he’d been a shambling shell of a person. Then he thought about Christopher, and about the men he’d brought home for a bit of company over the years and the embarrassment tipped into defensive anger. </p><p>He took a breath and forced himself to sip his tea, giving his whirling emotions a chance to settle. Arthur was starting to look uncomfortable now as well. </p><p>“I suppose this is good then,” he said at length, trying to force a smile. “Now I won’t have to go around holding your hand all the time.” </p><p>“What do you mean?” Arthur asked, tilting his head.</p><p>“Well, just that I assumed that coming back would be terrifying for you. As you may have noticed, the world has changed quite a bit since you’ve been gone.”</p><p>“So what, you were expecting that I’d be a baby, quivering in the corner and relying on you for everything?”</p><p>Merlin hesitated a second too long and Arthur’s cheeks turned pink with rage. </p><p>“In case you haven’t noticed, Merlin, I’m the one who’s been taking care of your foolish arse,” he said, standing and snatching his mug from the table. “And even if I hadn’t had the benefit of being able to share your sight — you really think so little of me? When have I ever been fearful — of anything? I don’t know what stories you’ve been telling yourself for these long years, or how you’ve repainted the past in your mind. But you’ll do well to remember that king or not, Arthur Pendragon is anything but a coward. I think you’re misremembering which of us spent his life too afraid to show who he really was.” </p><p>Arthur stalked into the kitchen, placed his mug carefully into the dishwasher — just to prove a point, Merlin supposed — then left, slamming the front door behind him.</p><p>The last thing Arthur had said played over in his mind. He had assumed that Arthur was referring to his magic, but had the dawning realisation that he may have been referring to Merlin’s sexuality. Which by now, Arthur would be extremely familiar with, as Merlin hadn’t so much as kissed a woman in over a thousand years. Surely he must be okay with it though, because he was still here. Except he had just walked out the door. Merlin sat up on the sofa and scrubbed his hands over his face, suddenly feeling very tired again. </p><p>The worst part of it was that Arthur was probably right. All these many years, the Arthur that Merlin had kept so close to his heart was constructed of only the best memories of their time together. It was the Arthur from those final days, when he had been subdued and introspective and resigned. When he had forgiven Merlin, and thanked him. But in the same way that Merlin had forgotten about the slurping tea, he had forgotten that Arthur, like any man, had bad qualities too — that he could be arrogant and brash and dismissive. Merlin felt foolish for having clung to the idea of a person who, as it turned out, didn’t even really exist. </p><p>The good news was that the real Arthur was even better — bigger and brighter somehow than Merlin had remembered him. Wonderfully alive and here with him now. But still — he felt like a bit of a stranger compared to the Arthur that had been living in his head. And his words had stung. </p><p>Merlin sighed and pushed himself to his feet unsteadily. Looking down, he saw that at some point he had been changed into his favourite pair of pyjama pants and his softest T-shirt and felt ashamed of himself. Arthur had seemed so cheerful before Merlin had complicated everything with his outburst. He had taken care of Merlin without a thought for himself — surely readjusting to being in his own body must be difficult, no matter what he said. And Merlin had repaid him by overreacting and insulting him for things that were beyond his control. </p><p>After he had changed into some proper clothes, he left the house in search of Arthur, assuming he hadn’t gone far. He found him in the rose garden, sitting cross-legged on a bench and rubbing a rich purple petal from one of the cardinal de richelieu roses between his fingers. He frowned up at Merlin when he sat down beside him. </p><p>“You should be lying down,” he said, turning to face Merlin on the bench.</p><p>“I feel okay,” Merlin said, pulling his one leg up and propping his chin on his knee. While he was working up the nerve to apologise, Arthur spoke again. </p><p>“These are beautiful, you know,” Arthur said, gesturing to them. “They smell even better than I imagined. And the petals are so soft.” </p><p>Merlin smiled. “Yes, they did do rather well at that.”</p><p>“Thanks to you,” Arthur said, with a sidelong glance.</p><p>“Yes,” Merlin agreed, gazing down the row at the huge purple blossoms which remained the envy of every gardener in Britain. He still thought of Christopher every time he saw them and the grief had ebbed enough that it was a fond remembrance. Merlin’s body tensed as he suddenly remembered that Arthur had <em>seen</em> all that and felt embarrassed all over again. Did he know that Merlin had only stayed on at Rosehill because of Arthur and not because of Christopher? Had Arthur been <em>jealous</em>?</p><p>Arthur sighed, breaking the silence. </p><p>“Merlin, I —”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Merlin blurted out, desperate to apologise before they could get off track again. </p><p>Arthur looked offended.</p><p>“I was going to apologise to you! Here you nearly die and find out some shocking and apparently upsetting news and I didn’t even give you a moment to recover before ripping your head off.” </p><p>“No, that’s not it at all,” Merlin protested. “It wasn’t — I’m not <em>upset</em> exactly. It’s just a bit of a shock to find out that I wasn’t alone all those years. I’m still getting used to the idea.” </p><p>“I’m sorry,” Arthur said stiffly. “I assumed you knew, since you cast the spell.” </p><p>“I didn’t know I had,” Merlin admitted, picking at a loose thread on the hem of his trousers. “I think I just did it on instinct.”</p><p>Merlin glanced up and saw that it was Arthur’s turn to look embarrassed. </p><p>“I don’t mind though,” Merlin rushed to reassure him. “I honestly don’t. It’s just going to take some getting used to, knowing that you could see everything I did and hear everything I said. Wait, you couldn’t hear my <em>thoughts</em>, could you?” </p><p>Arthur laughed in response to what Merlin was sure must be a mask of horror on his face but shook his head.</p><p>“No, I couldn’t, I swear.”</p><p>Merlin blew out a breath. “Well, thank goodness for that at least,” he said, giving Arthur a half smile. “Just … promise me that you’ll give me a chance to explain everything? And try not to make assumptions?”</p><p>“I’ll do my best,” Arthur said solemnly, plucking another petal from a nearby bloom and rubbing it gently against his cheek. Merlin got lost in watching him for a moment before clearing his throat. </p><p>“There’s something else too,” Arthur looked up at him, expression unreadable. Merlin sighed. “You were right, what you said back in the cottage. I’ve been so caught up in worrying about how bad it might be for you to come back that I think lost sight of who you actually are. You deserve more respect than me assuming you’d be — I don’t know, crying at the washing machine.”</p><p>Arthur’s lips twitched. “Really?” </p><p>“Oh, you know what I mean,” Merlin said, shoving at his shoulder lightly. “But I think it’s going to take some time. We’re going to have to get to know each other over again, but I don’t mind. I’m looking forward to it, in fact.” </p><p>Arthur shredded the petals into small pieces as the smirk faded from his lips. He was quiet for a moment before he spoke.</p><p>“I thought so much about all the things I wanted to say to you, if I ever got the chance again,” he said, eyes still cast downward. “But nothing’s gone like I thought it would.” </p><p>Merlin, who felt relieved that he had put the uneasiness between them into words, reached out and took Arthur’s hand in his. </p><p>“It doesn’t all have to be said at once,” he said quietly. “We can take our time and just keep talking. Okay?”</p><p>Arthur’s answering smile was bright as the mid-day sun, and made Merlin feel just as warm. He got to his feet, pulling Arthur up as well. Once Arthur was standing again, Merlin found that he couldn’t quite let go of the hand held tight in his. Arthur looked at him questioningly but made no move to pull away. </p><p>“It’s so good to have you here,” Merlin said softly. “I’ve missed you.” </p><p>They would argue later about who made the first move, but in the end it didn’t matter because their arms were wrapped around each other, bodies pressed together tightly. Merlin squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face in Arthur’s neck, breathing him in and thinking that this was all he needed — even if Arthur didn’t want anything more that this would be enough. </p><p>“I missed you too,” Arthur whispered, carding one hand through his hair. “God, so much.”</p><p>They stayed like that for a long time, with the scent of the roses wafting around them and the sun glinting off the lake in the distance. </p><p>*</p><p>They stumbled their way through the rest of the day. </p><p>Arthur seemed to withdraw a bit after their talk in the garden, which frustrated Merlin a bit, though he was determined to remain patient. They talked about some of the practical things that Arthur might need or want in the coming days — clothes that fit properly and a mobile of his own seemed to be at the top of his list — and by silent agreement avoided talking about anything of consequence. </p><p>Merlin took Arthur up to the great house to see who was around and acquaint them properly. He fumbled over introductions, referring to Arthur as the friend from out of town that he had mentioned might be visiting for a while. Sophie elbowed Grey when they exchanged a knowing smirk with Amira, and Shay raised one eyebrow so high that Merlin could almost hear her saying <em>You think you’re fooling me with this mess?</em> But for once they kept their thoughts to themselves, for which Merlin was thankful. Arthur seemed pleased on their way back to the cottage. </p><p>“I think they like me,” he said.</p><p>Merlin snorted. </p><p>“Of course they like you, you berk. You’re wearing a shirt that’s two sizes too small,” Merlin said, laughing at Arthur’s expression. “I don’t think Amira’s eyes ever got higher than your chest.” </p><p>Arthur sputtered all the way back, but later added a gym membership to his list of requests.</p><p>The evening passed quietly. Merlin managed to roast the capons without incident and Arthur was politely appreciative, but an hour later asked Merlin how long he should heat the leftover curry in the microwave. </p><p>“I’m still hungry,” he said apologetically. “Readjusting to having a body and all.” </p><p>Merlin just rolled his eyes. </p><p>By the time the sun was setting, Merlin was just about desperate enough to suggest they watch some telly when Arthur asked if he could take a bath. Merlin agreed readily, telling Arthur that there were towels in the hall closet. To which he replied, “I know,” with an exasperated huff, the same way he had over dinner when Merlin had tried to tell him about his work at the shelter, the rest of the kids, and a funny dog he had seen earlier in the week. </p><p>“Sorry!” Merlin replied, as he had every time before. He resisted the urge to ask Arthur if he needed help with the bath faucet and instead sat on the sofa, jiggling one leg and listening to the splashing sounds coming from down the hall. By the time Arthur emerged in a cloud of steam, Merlin had retrieved his mobile to distract himself. </p><p>“Oh! That reminds me!” Arthur exclaimed, plopping beside Merlin and snatching the mobile from his hands. Before Merlin could protest, he had opened the puzzle game that Merlin had given up on and deftly solved the level that had plagued him for months.</p><p>“There,” Arthur said, looking pleased with himself. “That’s been driving me crazy.” </p><p>*</p><p>Later that evening, Merlin stood in the bathroom, cleaning his teeth. After Arthur’s bath, awkwardness had descended between them again and Merlin had been grateful when Arthur yawned dramatically and declared that he’d turn in early.</p><p>After he had rinsed out his mouth, he went down the hall toward his bedroom and stopped. He turned around and moved back toward the guest bedroom, then paused and took a deep, frustrated breath. He was being ridiculous. Arthur had only been back for one day and they had been apart for hundreds of years. He couldn’t expect everything to go perfectly right away, and instead of wallowing in his frustration like a sulky teenager, he could approach Arthur — who was surely struggling with the situation as well — with some grace and patience. He walked back to his bedroom and gave the door a perfunctory tap before pushing it open. </p><p>“Arth—” he started to say, then had to stop to catch his breath. The room was bathed in the soft glow of his fairy lights and Arthur’s bare back was turned to Merlin, glowing golden as he nestled into the grey duvet. For a moment it was exactly like Merlin's vision — but then Arthur rolled over and looked at him questioningly. Merlin hastily cleared his throat. </p><p>“I was just checking to see if you needed anything before I went to bed,” he said, leaning against the doorframe. Arthur’s frown deepened. </p><p>“Where are you sleeping?” Arthur asked, seeming confused. </p><p>Merlin fought to keep a flush from creeping across his cheeks. </p><p>“There’s a second bedroom down the hall,” he gestured, “so I just thought I’d …” </p><p>The words stuck in Merlin’s throat at the hurt look on Arthur’s face. He rubbed at the back of his head and wondered how he was fucking this up so colossally when he’d had so much time to prepare. He met Arthur’s eyes across the heavy silence that filled the room. Arthur’s face was unreadable, but finally seemed to harden with resolve. </p><p>“You’ll lie with me,” Arthur demanded in his most regal tone — Merlin supposed that no one but him could have heard the underlying question and uncertainty. But suddenly it was easy for Merlin to cross the room, unplug the string of fairy lights and crawl under the duvet beside him. </p><p>He settled in facing Arthur, but it was too dark to see his face. Merlin felt the frustration he had been struggling with all day well up in him again. None of this was going the way he had imagined it. In his daydreams, they had fallen into one another’s arms, Arthur had depended on him to explain the ways of the world, and the rest would come naturally with time. Now they were lying beside each other with less than a meter between them, but Arthur felt about as close as he had been at the bottom of the lake.</p><p>Merlin was so lost in his own thoughts that he jumped when Arthur whispered his name. </p><p>“Hmm?” Merlin answered. Arthur scooted closer on the mattress. </p><p>“Could you make a bit of light? Or is your magic still …”</p><p>In fact, Merlin hadn’t tested out his newly restored magic yet, but something in the hesitation of Arthur’s voice made him try without a thought. He breathed a spell and an orb of the softest blue light drifted to the far corner of the room. It was just barely enough to cut through the darkness, but in it Merlin could nearly map the contours of Arthur’s face. </p><p>Arthur gave a small sigh as he settled back into his pillow, keeping his eyes fixed on Merlin. </p><p>“It’s good to be able to look at you as much as I like,” he whispered in the dark. “I was always looking … out somehow, so I couldn’t see your face. How many times I wished you’d grow vain and start staring into mirrors more.” </p><p>Merlin laughed nervously and looked down, glad of the dark to hide the heat on his cheeks. But he looked up in surprise when Arthur’s hand reached out to trace his brow lightly, then to cup his cheek. Arthur’s eyes were on Merlin’s lips now, but after a moment he looked up and held Merlin’s gaze. </p><p>Holding in a breath, Merlin slid closer on the bed and reached out to rest his own palm on Arthur’s cheek, and Arthur immediately closed his eyes and pressed into the touch. </p><p>“It’s good to see your face as well,” Merlin whispered. “I was afraid sometimes … that I would forget it.”</p><p>Merlin’s voice wavered at the end, but then it didn’t matter because Arthur was leaning forward and kissing him. </p><p>The kiss wasn’t the earth-shattering revelation that Merlin had always half-expected it to be, but rather the acknowledgement of a simple truth that had always been between them. Still, Merlin shivered into it, into the overwhelming truth of Arthur’s love for him. </p><p>All Merlin’s exhaustive imaginings turned out to be nothing but the clumsiest of sketches when held up against the reality of the slick inside of Arthur’s soft lips capturing his over and over, the press of his fingertips as they clutched at Merlin to draw him closer, the huff of his breath against Merlin’s cheek. By the time Arthur was sliding his tongue into the heat of Merlin’s mouth, Merlin felt something settle over him — a deep feeling of peace that spread through him even as he curled his toes against the sheets. </p><p>For an impossibly long time they simply kissed, letting the feeling unspool slowly between them. Here they finally appeared to be on the same page, and Merlin could feel the magic prickling under his skin as Arthur’s hands roamed reverently over his body. Neither of them seemed to be in a hurry. Their mouths moving gently against each other seemed to convey all the things their words hadn’t been able to during the long, strange day. Merlin felt so relieved he wanted to cry, but the miracle of Arthur’s lips against his own crowded out every emotion except for his deep and abiding love for this man in his arms. </p><p>What seemed like hours later, Arthur’s earnest kisses had finally gained an edge of purpose. He had pulled Merlin so close now that it was as if he were trying to mould their bodies into one, like one of Merlin’s clay sculptures. A small part of Merlin wanted to pause to catch his breath before they went on, but the greater part of him knew that they had finally set something into motion that had been waiting even longer than Merlin had. </p><p>Arthur rolled onto his back pulling a willing Merlin along with him and broke off, his forehead pressed to Merlin’s. He started to speak but Merlin, propped over him on his elbows, couldn’t help but lean in for another press of lips. Arthur hummed into the kiss but pulled away again after a moment. </p><p>“I know this is all new—” Arthur paused to smile reflexively at Merlin’s quiet huff of laughter, then pressed on, ”But can we? I mean, well. Only if you want to.” </p><p>Arthur’s words were at odds with the possessive way his hands were inching down Merlin’s back and teasing beneath the waistband of his pyjamas, pressing into bare skin. Merlin kissed the light stubble of his cheek and then the mouth that he thought he would never get enough of. </p><p>“Yeah,” he said, unable to resist rubbing his cheek against Arthur’s. “Of course we can. Let me —?”</p><p>Merlin started to roll off but Arthur gripped his hips, holding him in place. Merlin looked at him questioningly.</p><p>“Can you just … stay close?” Arthur said in an embarrassed rush. </p><p>Merlin rewarded his forthrightness with a bruising kiss then nodded and sat back for a moment. His hands rested over Arthur’s beating heart, a miracle that he could feel pulsing wildly beneath his palms. He managed to wriggle out of his pyjamas without moving too far away and helped Arthur to undress as well. When their bare skin was finally pressed together, Merlin thought he would burst with emotion. </p><p>Their unhurried exploration of each other’s bodies had left both of them aching, so Merlin made short work of preparing himself before slowly sinking down onto Arthur’s hard heat. The moment of their joining was so intense that Merlin had to squeeze his eyes shut as a rush of pleasure and magic coursed through him. When he opened them, Arthur was gazing up at him with wonder. </p><p>“Your eyes,” he said, propping himself up on his elbows and reaching up to caress Merlin’s cheek. “They’re glowing.”</p><p>Merlin was embarrassed for a moment, knowing that right now his magic was a function of his body that he couldn’t control. It swirled around them like a benediction, blessing and protecting their union as his golden eyes met Arthur’s clear blue.</p><p>“Is it going to do that every time?” Arthur whispered, and suddenly the spell was finished and Merlin was laughing and pressing his face into Arthur’s palm. </p><p>“Guess we’ll have to find out.”</p><p>*</p><p>Afterward, it was as though a spell had been lifted. All the feelings of Arthur being distant and unknown melted away so quickly and completely that Merlin could hardly believe he had felt them at all. In fact, it felt quite the opposite — like the entire rest of the world was make-believe and only the cocoon of warmth and familiarity that they had recreated within Merlin’s bed really mattered. Their hands never strayed from the planes of each other’s bodies as they talked into the night. They laughed together over both private jokes centuries old and Arthur was coaxed into his recollections of his time spent watching. </p><p>“No, the scariest was that time you went down the stairs in the great house,” Arthur said when the conversation wandered onto the topic of Merlin's many injuries over the years. “I could see it coming, you had left the boots right in the middle of the step.” </p><p>“I was trying to remember to polish them,” Merlin said feebly. “Christ that one hurt, my arse was black and blue for weeks.” </p><p>“I know,” Arthur said, his eyes twinkling. “Why do you think I remember it so well? You were admiring your arse in the mirror for weeks, it was heaven.” Merlin shoved him back onto the pillows with a laugh.</p><p>Later, after their discussion had wandered and come to a natural pause, Arthur absently stroked Merlin’s head where it was pillowed on his chest. </p><p>“I could have not watched,” he said at last, surprising Merlin enough that he looked up. “Sometimes I didn’t because it was so. It hurt so much to be that close, but not with you. I didn’t think I could bear it. But then it hurt even more to be away.” </p><p>Merlin reached for his hand and squeezed tight. </p><p>“I’m sorry if you didn’t want me to. But I think you would have allowed it, if you knew how bad it felt to be stuck there, not knowing if I would ever be able to make my way back to you.” </p><p>“Oh love,” Merlin murmured, cupping Arthur’s face in his hands and wiping at the wetness with his thumbs. “Of course I would have. It just took me by surprise, is all. If I’d have known you were in there I think it would have driven me mad. I’d have ripped myself apart just trying to get to you, so it’s better this way, truly.” He wrapped his arms around Arthur and let him bury his face in his shoulder. Merlin pressed a kiss to the side of his head, breathing in the warm scent of him. They stayed that way for a moment before Merlin spoke again. “Even in the moments that I felt the most lost and alone, I could always feel you near. I’m glad to know you actually were.”</p><p>*</p><p>During the wee hours, after Merlin had let the magicked light fade and while they caressed each other in the dark, Merlin finally plucked up the courage to bring up what had been on his mind. </p><p>“What you must think of me,” he whispered, lips close enough to brush Arthur’s cheek. “Being with … with all those men.” He paused to swallow, then made himself go on. “I’m sorry, Arthur — I didn’t mean to be unfaithful, especially if I had known you were there with me. I swear none of them meant anything—”</p><p>“No,” Arthur interrupted, gripping his biceps with a shake, “No, don’t say that. They did mean something to you. And I’m so thankful for that, in fact, because,” Arthur’s voice wavered and Merlin’s eyes filled reflexively. “Because I couldn’t be with you. So I’m <em>glad </em>they meant something to you, because that meant something to me as well. Don’t you see?”</p><p>Merlin nodded silently and let Arthur pull him into his chest. “Stop it you great baby,” Arthur murmured. “You’ll set me off again too.” </p><p>Merlin laughed wetly against Arthur’s skin and tried to draw back, only to find Arthur’s arms squeezing tighter around him. </p><p>“Don’t think about it anymore,” Arthur said quietly into his hair. “We had no agreement, and I’m glad you were looked after. Alright?” </p><p>Merlin nodded again.</p><p>“And I dowant to,” Arthur said, pulling back a bit and searching his eyes. “To be with you. You know that, right?”</p><p>“Sort of got that, yeah,” Merlin said, gesturing at their nudity with a weak laugh. But Arthur’s face was serious. </p><p>“I don’t mean just this,” he said, tracing Merlin’s cheekbone with a fingertip then resting his hand on the side of his neck. “Although this was perfect. No, I mean everything. I love you, Merlin. I should have said it then, but I was a coward. Then I spent all that time watching other people falling in love with you and yes, I was glad that you weren’t alone, but I thought it would drive me mad. Because it should have been me, and you shouldn’t have been unsure of my affections all that time. I swore that if I was ever able to come back that I wouldn’t be a coward again. I want to be with you, Merlin. I want to be your partner, your husband — whatever you need. That is,” Arthur suddenly looked uncertain. “Well. Only if that’s something you’d want.”</p><p>Before Arthur could go any further, Merlin grabbed his hand and intertwined their fingers. </p><p>“You really weren’t paying attention all those years if you think that I want anything more than to be with you for the rest of our lives.”</p><p>Arthur let out a shuddery breath, then pressed his lips to Merlin's temple, his forehead, and finally caught his mouth in a fiercely possessive kiss.</p><p>When they came together for the second time it was with more urgency and less finesse, rocking against each other and whispering promises into the darkness. Afterward, they curled into each other again and touched drowsily, unwilling to miss a moment together even for sleep. </p><p>When Merlin had decided that it was definitely getting lighter in the room, he put voice to the question that had been tickling at the back of his mind.</p><p>“What do you think will happen to us now?”</p><p>Arthur stroked his hair. </p><p>“I don’t know.”</p><p>Merlin felt a little wash of disappointment come over him. He has been hoping that Arthur may have seen or sensed something that he hadn’t in his time apart. But before he could speak, Arthur went on. </p><p>“But I know we won’t be parted again,” he said, finding Merlin’s hand and bringing it to his lips. “And that’s all that matters.” </p><p>*</p><p>A week later, Merlin reluctantly agreed to let Arthur accompany him to the farmer’s market. Merlin had insisted that it would be too much for Arthur, who was still getting used to having full access to his own senses. Arthur had insisted that Merlin was being an unreasonable walnut and that he was fully capable of handling himself.</p><p>When they arrived at the market — which was bustling with barking dogs and squirming babies, young couples and tottering grandfathers and everything in between — Merlin could tell that for all his bluster, Arthur did feel a little overwhelmed in the crowd. Merlin also knew that Arthur would never admit it, and if he squeezed Merlin’s hand a little tighter, well — Merlin could politely pretend not to notice.</p><p>Instead he dragged Arthur through the crowd to the table of his favourite beekeeper. In his enthusiasm he bumped into the stand, knocking a large jar of raw honey off the table and onto the instep of a young woman standing beside them. </p><p>“Sorry,” Merlin yelped, diving for the jar before it rolled off and nearly colliding with the girl, who had doubled over to clutch her foot. </p><p>“You’ll have to excuse my boyfriend,” Arthur said, clearly relishing the term despite his supercilious tone. “He doesn’t get —” </p><p>He stopped speaking abruptly, and Merlin’s concerned eyes went to him at once. Arthur was just staring at the girl, dumbfounded. After a moment his eyes flitted to meet Merlin’s, then returned to the girl. Merlin turned to apologise for himself and stopped short as well. </p><p>“It’s okay,” the girl said through clenched teeth, clearly not okay. </p><p>“Gwen?” Merlin asked, bewildered. Because the woman standing in front of them was undeniably Guinevere. A frisson of excitement shot through him, and his magic tingled in his fingertips. </p><p>The girl looked at him sharply. </p><p>“How do you know my name?” Then she blinked, looking confused. “Do I know you?”</p><p>“No,” Merlin said slowly. “But I think you’re about to.”</p><p>*</p><p>They walked home in the rich autumn sunlight, Arthur with the reusable bag full of honey and fresh vegetables slung over his shoulder. They had chatted with Gwen for quite a while and made plans to meet up the following week. Although she had been wary initially, Gwen had quickly warmed up and by the time they exchanged mobile numbers she said she felt as if she had known them for years. Merlin had recovered after his initial surprise and successfully bluffed his way into a plausible reason that they might be acquainted — it turned out there was a use for those charity fundraisers he’d grudgingly attended after all. They hadn’t told her anything about their true connection lest they seem like a pair of nutters, but Merlin knew it was only a matter of time. </p><p>Arthur was bouncing along beside him, chattering excitedly about whether everyone would eventually come back and how long it would take, but Merlin was feeling quiet. Gwen had been sweet as always, but without the benefit of their shared memories she had spent quite a lot of their chat making eyes at Arthur. Arthur had seemed too distracted by the situation to notice, but it made Merlin wonder if they hadn’t been a little hasty in their declarations. After all, Gwen had been Arthur’s <em>wife </em>— surely this changed things. Merlin thought miserably of sweet John going along with his arranged marriage, and of Christopher’s devotion to Emily. It only stood to reason that Arthur would leap at another chance to be with Gwen. Merlin wouldn’t be the one to hold him back. </p><p>As they passed along the park, Arthur shifted the bag to the other shoulder then snaked an arm around Merlin’s waist, pulling him in to kiss his cheek. </p><p>“Want to get some chips?” he asked conspiratorially. It had become a bit of a running joke that Arthur had developed a taste for takeaway of all kinds. </p><p>Instead of laughing or scolding, Merlin just shrugged his arm off. </p><p>“I think we should talk,” he said, trying to keep his voice even.</p><p>“Okay, fine, we’ll be responsible and cook the veg,” Arthur said, putting his arm back around Merlin. “No need to look all serious.” </p><p>“No, Arthur,” Merlin said, stopping on the pavement and turning to him. “About Gwen.”</p><p>“What about — oh no,” Arthur said, his face transforming from confusion to annoyance. “No, no, no. Absolutely not.”</p><p>“What?” Merlin said, his chin stuck out.</p><p>“You’re going to be all noble and tell me to go be with Gwen. And it’s not going to happen, so you can stop right now.”</p><p>“But she’s your wife,” Merlin said weakly. </p><p>“She <em>was</em> my wife,” Arthur corrected, turning to set the bag down gently then rummaging around in the pocket of his jacket. </p><p>“We don’t need to make a decision right now,” Merlin said, watching Arthur’s back warily as the man cursed to himself. “I just wanted you to know that if you decide—” </p><p>Arthur made a triumphant sound and wheeled around to face Merlin. His eyes were flashing with determination in a way that made Merlin’s heart ache with familiarity. He had something clenched tight in his fist as he stalked back toward Merlin, who was vaguely aware that they were making a scene now.</p><p>Arthur wrapped his arms around Merlin and kissed him soundly, then pulled back with a growl. </p><p>“No you listen to me, because I’m only going to say this once,” he said fiercely. “I loved Gwen. I will <em>always</em> love Gwen, but Merlin — she’s my past. You’re my destiny. And — fuck, I was going to wait and do this properly, but —”</p><p>He pulled back a bit and sank to one knee. Merlin could hear catcalls and whistles in the distance, but all he could see was Arthur’s steady fingers prising opening the blue velvet box and the glint of gold within. </p><p>“We’ve waited long enough, wouldn’t you say?” Arthur said, looking up to meet his eyes.</p><p>After a moment, Merlin nodded mutely and Arthur sprang up to pull him into a long, thorough snog. Cheers and whooping went up across the park and they broke away laughing. Arthur was grinning at him boyishly and Merlin found himself helpless to do anything but grin back.</p><p>“How on Earth did you sneak off to get this? It’s only been a week!” Merlin exclaimed as Arthur grabbed his hand and wrestled the simple band onto his finger.</p><p>“Shay,” said Arthur, then grimaced. “Christ, she’s going to kill me, we had a whole plan.” </p><p>Merlin laughed, which set Arthur off too. It felt so incredibly good, Merlin reflected, just to be standing here on an ordinary Saturday, laughing together. He couldn’t be sure what had been set in motion today, only knew that the wheels of destiny were once again turning to the fates of man. But no matter what came to pass, at long last his waiting was over. He could step confidently into his future, with his King by his side.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>"… und wenn sie nicht gestorben sind, dann leben sie noch heute."<br/>An appropriate ending for these two especially, I think. &lt;3</p><p>If you made it this far, thank you so much for reading! I really hope you enjoyed the story. As always, feel free to follow me on <a href="http://fervidasaflame.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a> for ramblings about my WIPs, lots of reblogging, and always tons of Merthur!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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